


Ink Stains and Paper Cuts

by Paradoxolotl



Series: Inked Truths [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Juvie, Letters, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Andrew Minyard, Pen Pals, Scars, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Therapy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxolotl/pseuds/Paradoxolotl
Summary: Andrew doesn't believe in regret. There's no point in wishing for things that can't be changed after all. He wouldn't go back to stop himself from being thrown in juvie; he had done it to protect a brother he never knew he had. Joining the exy team there was better than being stuck in his cell, even if it was boring. Even the penpal program for troubled youth his therapist put him in ended up giving him a puzzle to play with.That puzzle was 'Hatford'.A boy with a razor tongue and secrets, Andrew can't help but find himself interested in the stranger trading truths with him through poorly written letters.Andrew doesn't believe in regret, but answering that first message may have lead to something he wasn't prepared for.Set before 'Brother of Mine'.
Relationships: Aaron Minyard & Andrew Minyard, Andrew Minyard & Original Character(s), Neil Josten & Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick & Andrew Minyard
Series: Inked Truths [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156205
Comments: 564
Kudos: 412





	1. Doe, Meet Hatford

**Author's Note:**

> It's here!  
> This is the beginning of Andrew's journey from 'Brother of Mine'. You do not need to read it to understand this story.  
> I'll try to post at least once a week, but I make no promises.
> 
> TW: References to Andrew's past and mentions of previous self-harm/scars.

_Whoever,_

_My uncle has signed me up for this programme because he wants me to be more social, but I think that’s bullshit. We found a compromise in this, where I don’t actually have to meet anyone, but he feels better that I’m ‘talking’ and ‘connecting with my peers’. Either way, it’s a complete waste of time._

_So._

_Hello._

_I’ve been told that I was paired with someone at a juvenile detention centre in California. Congratulations on getting caught doing whatever it was you did to land yourself in there. I’m sure it was impressive._

_I was also told to provide some basic background information about myself so that we can find common ground._

_I’m not telling you shit._

_-Hatford._

Andrew stared at the letter in his hand, disbelief singing through his veins. When Andrew had returned from dinner to find this letter on his pillow, the familiar itch that came with the knowledge of someone entering his space had sparked his already frayed nerves. Snatching it off the cheap cotton showed that had been opened already. Any letters received were opened by staff beforehand to check for contraband and generally skimmed for content, because he wasn’t allowed any damn privacy. At first, he had thought it was another letter from Cass, but removing the single piece of paper from the envelope revealed unfamiliar handwriting.

It had taken him a while to decipher the messy scrawl before him, and he was now torn between being impressed and annoyed. When his therapist here, a hooked nosed man that reeked of sweat and failed aspirations, forced Andrew to join this program to combat his ‘lack of interest shown towards his peers in group or privileged activities’, Andrew thought he would be forced to suffer through reading the mundane details of some asshole's life. What he was not expecting was _this_.

Some typical teen snark was to be expected, Andrew wasn’t an idiot, but immediately shoving a middle finger not only at the program but Andrew as well?

Andrew really should be used to this sort of thing by now. Being written off without thought was a recurring theme for him and normally it wouldn't phase him, but he was caught up on this asshole _congratulating_ him on being sent to juvie. The irony would make him laugh if he was someone who laughed in the first place. The last thing he expected was something like this happening, and he didn’t like being caught off guard. His ability to be in control was something he fought to have and he didn't like it when it was threatened or taken away. Surprises were an unwelcome addition to his life, and now Andrew wasn’t sure what to do.

His fingers twitched with the urge to tear up the stupid letter. To crumple it up and throw it away. To burn it to ash. Not that it would matter; the impressively poor penmanship and derisive words would always be frozen in Andrew’s memory. He wasn’t entirely sure if reading something mundane would have been better or worse than whatever this was.

Deciding that destroying the letter would be useless anyway, Andrew shoved it under his pillow and out of his mind, vowing to deal with it later.

~~~

As it turns out, actively trying to _not_ think about something has the opposite of the desired effect. All throughout the next day, Andrew’s mind drifted back to the letter. As he picked through soggy toast and dry eggs, Andrew thought about flushing the damn thing down the toilet. As he sat through his morning classes, he thought about sending back a scathing review over Hatford’s use of British spelling. During lunch, he decided he would just ignore Hatford altogether. That plan lasted until he was sitting across from Dr. Payton for his afternoon session.

“I heard you got your first letter. What did you write back?” Payton had an annoying habit of expecting things from Andrew and then listing all the reasons why he was a failure for not meeting them.

“Nothing.”

“Andrew,” Payton looked at him over his hook nose, watery eyes full of frustration, “we agreed that this program would be good for you.” This was a lie. Payton said it would be good. Andrew just didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “It only works if you put the work in.”

Andrew said nothing. He didn’t see the point in telling Payton that things don’t work out for him or that Andrew didn’t need to make connections. It never did him any good, and he was tired of being let down.

Payton let out a breath that let Andrew know just how difficult Payton thought he was being. “Look, you refuse to participate in group. You don’t engage with your peers in your classes or during meals and rec time. Even worse, Coach Orav tells me your effort in practices and games is almost non-existent. I’ll remind you again that being on the exy team is a privilege, and many kids here would take your spot in a heartbeat.”

That was another thing Andrew hated about Payton. The thin threats he made, when they both knew Andrew hadn’t done anything that would warrant him being removed from the team. It was true that Andrew had been in a handful of fights since arriving, but they had all been instigated by someone else, and by now everyone knew to leave him alone. He hadn’t had to face any disciplinary action in weeks. His lack of participation clearly grated on his nerves, but Andrew not talking wasn’t reason enough for Payton to take away privileges. Andrew found walking this line very amusing.

When Andrew still hadn’t spoken, Payton leaned forward across his desk, “Make an effort here, Andrew. Your mother will be happy to hear you’re improving.”

Andrew stilled, vicious anger slithering through his veins. Fuck Payton for bringing up Cass. Fuck him for trying to manipulate Andrew into doing what he wanted. The urge to break something - to hit and feel his skin split - surged forward, almost all-consuming. Restraining himself was a near thing.

Seeing Andrew’s reaction at the mention of Cass, Payton’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction, “You have a visit with her next weekend, right? It would be nice to have good news to share with her. I also see there was a request from a Luther Hemmick to visit as well-” Andrew felt his heart lurch- “and will probably be scheduled in the next couple of weeks. It will be good for you to finally meet your real family.”

Andrew crossed his arms to hide his shaking hands, the familiar creeping numbness working too slowly into his body to help him. Payton was always telling Andrew what would be good for him. What he needed. How he should do things. So eager to check off a little box beside Andrew’s name indicating he was all better; reformed and ready to re-enter society.

The clock counted the seconds.

Blowing a breath through his nose, Payton leaned back in his chair. “We’re almost done for the day, so let’s go over our usual questions, yeah?”

Andrew knew he didn’t really have a choice. They had catalogued any and all scars or markings when he was first brought here. Now he was stuck with this stupid checklist.

“Thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Verbal answers, Andrew.”

“No,” he gritted out through his teeth.

Payton checked off a little box. “Any depressive thoughts?”

“No.”

Another scratch of pen on paper.

“Strange or sudden feelings of panic?”

“No.”

Check.

“Loss of interest in your future or activities you enjoy?”

“No.”

A final mark.

Payton set down his pen and looked back up at Andrew. “Good to hear. Answer that letter, Andrew. It’ll do you no good to waste this opportunity. See you next time.”

Andrew left without another word. It didn’t matter what he said anyway.

~~~

He was staring at the ceiling above his bunk later that night, thoughts of Cass swirling through his mind, wreaking havoc. He didn’t want to see her next Saturday, to see her sad eyes and wobbly smile. He didn’t want to hear her talk about how she still bakes cookies on Sundays. He doesn’t want to see her hold back tears as she tells him how much she misses him and wishes he would answer her letters. Andrew doesn’t want to see her because it will hurt, and he can only be so self-destructive.

To distract himself from spiralling, he moved his attention to Luther. Andrew didn’t know why the man thought Andrew wanted him to come to visit; he thought his answering letter to his long-lost twin had covered everything. Andrew didn’t need them in his life, and they needed to stay out of it. At the thought of Aaron, his arms began to itch. Scratching at them absently, Andrew felt his mind begin to wander toward dangerous territory.

When he had received Aaron’s letter, a traitorous fluttering of joy had risen in his chest. That small single piece of paper had been proof that there was someone out there that could belong to him. A symbol that he was not alone, but a pair. The sting of being separated so early was a familiar taste, worsened by the knowledge that his twin was chosen over him. If he and Aaron had grown up together, what would have been different? What had Tilda seen in Aaron that she deemed worth keeping, or what about Andrew was awful enough to throw have him away?

Immediately, Andrew shook away those thoughts. They were a waste of time and completely pointless. He couldn’t change anything and had done what he had to do to keep Aaron safe. He would not allow himself to ponder over improbabilities and useless fantasies. He had learned quickly that learning about Aaron was just another cruelty, a dream dangled in front of him that could never be reached. Their relationship had been tainted from the very beginning and had only worsened since Pig Higgins had mistaken Aaron for Andrew at that stupid game.

Thinking of Aaron always brought a shadow of fear over Andrew, and he did not want to think about _him._ He was tired and would rather have his mind clear of phantom hands and oily words.

He needed a distraction.

At the moment his bunkmate, a lanky kid with a pockmarked face, was scribbling away in a workbook. It wasn’t as though Andrew actualy wanted to talk to him. The careful distance he kept everyone here worked for him. It would do him no good to have people think they could approach him, talk to him, _touch him._ No. Distance was better.

Fishing out his battered copy of _King Lear_ he had gotten from the library, Andrew tried to tune out the world. When the lights finally went out a couple hours later, he had only made it five pages. His mind had kept spiralling back, and now he was on a slippery slope in the dark.

Paper crinkling under his head lead to the needed distraction.

Pulling out Hatford’s letter, Andrew spent the rest of his evening trying to glean as much information out of the words as possible. The program they were in was meant to pair troubled youth together in an anonymous format. It provided no information about the participants to each other beforehand, going as far as having all the letters filtered through their offices to stop the kids’ mailing addresses from being passed around. The idea was to promote a safe space where you only shared information you wanted and could make connections without pressure. Andrew thought it was flawed at best.

He knew that because he was currently in juvie, his letter mate had been warned that their correspondences would be checked for contraband. Andrew also knew that staff weren’t supposed to read the actual messages, but his trust of others was non-existent. Especially people with power over him. These things meant that Andrew no longer had the option to completely control what information he shared, and Hatford already had more information about Andrew than he would have liked.

The playing field needed to be levelled. 

He could guess by spelling that the kid was outside of the US, and by how messy the writing was, Andrew figured they were a boy. Apparently to Hatford, ‘basic background information’ was too sensitive to be shared, and Andrew began to wonder what secrets this kid had. The program only allowed applicants that were considered ‘troubled’, so Andrew knew this kid was hiding something. No doubt the threat of unwanted eyes wasn’t helping him open up. There was the mention of an uncle, so Hatford’s parents may be out of the picture, or a reason he qualified for this in the first place. Perhaps they also caused what seemed to be anti-social tendencies if this uncle was concerned Hatford needed to talk more.

In the end, Andrew decided Hatford was a distrustful sarcastic little shit.

But he had also given Andrew a name, and Andrew didn’t get the impression it was false. There were nuggets of truth given here, and he felt like he owed a truth of his own back. As much as he hated to admit it, Andrew was intrigued.

God, he needed a cigarette.

Scowling, Andrew pulled his blanket up to his chin, shoving his back against the wall. He could hear his roommate snoring below him, having fallen asleep ages ago.

He had spent hours mulling over the small bits of information Hatford had given, and Andrew hated it. There was enough on his plate, he didn’t need some cryptid taking up space in his mind. As Andrew let sleep claim him, he concluded he wouldn’t answer the kid, program be damned. No matter how interested he was in this Hatford.

~~~

During rec time the next day, because he really was self-destructive, Andrew wrote his letter. After all, he owed the kid a name.

_Hatford_

_I don’t care._

_-Doe_


	2. Tell Me Something True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on posting today, but it's -30 outside. So, here we go!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: references/mentions of Drake and his abuse towards Andrew. Andrew's thoughts go to a dark place and there's vague suicidal ideation.

_Doe,_

_Honestly? Fuck you. I can’t believe you wasted the postage to send FIVE WORDS. I’m not sure if I would have been more annoyed with receiving your ‘letter’ or by getting nothing back at all. If you don’t care then what’s the point of writing back in the first place? Am I supposed to feel honoured that you went to the trouble of scratching out 19 measly letters?_

_Are you trying to have an air of mystery by lying about your name? Because if you were going to use a false name, you’re shit at coming up with one. Do you need tips?_

_I would have been happy to be done with this entire thing by now, but I made a deal with my uncle to stick it out for five letters._

_Three more and I’ll be done._

_If your next letter is just going to say ‘fuck you’ I suggest not writing anything at all. Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself._

_-Hatford_

It had taken a little over a week for Hatford’s next letter to arrive. Andrew had read it no less than three times, a flare of amusement and a small curl of disappointment settling in his gut. Refusing to think about the countdown the spitfire had placed upon them, Andrew mulled over the new information. Apparently, Hatford had experience making up fake names and was insulted at the thought of someone putting such little effort into the craft. What Andrew wanted to know now was _why_ he had needed the experience in the first place. Was he just looking to get a fake ID for access to things booze and bars? Or was it something more serious? Although slightly irritated at being accused of lying, Andrew could admit to himself that Hatford was providing an excellent distraction.

One he was desperately clinging to as a guard led him down the hall towards the empty cafeteria.

The cuffs around his wrists and waist we heavy, and he felt as though they would drag him through the floor at any moment. If he was honest with himself, he knew he wouldn’t even fight it. The urge to disappear, to remove himself from everything, pulled at his limbs and clawed at his skin. In the back of his mind, a small voice begged and cried. He vehemently shoved it back in its box, angry and disappointed that he had let it out in the first place.

Chains rattling and shoes squeaking on the cheap flooring, Andrew debated slamming into the guard. It would get him thrown in solitary at a minimum and would definitely get him out of visitation. But it might also lead to loss of privileges, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for a smaller cage.

Before he could decide, the guard stopped in front of the doors, sending him and the two other kids under his watch a pointed look. With a sharp ‘behave’, he opened the doors, ushering them inside.

It took two steps for Andrew to spot her.

Cass hadn’t changed in the few months he had been in juvie; her brown hair still pulled back in its usual bun showcasing the crow’s feet around her tired eyes. She was sitting at a table in the middle, and Andrew felt an uncomfortable creeping chill running down his spine at being so exposed. The metal he was wearing clanged as he sat across from her, a worn frown appearing on her face at the sound.

“Do they really need to treat you like such a criminal?” She asked, her fingers twisting her wedding ring around and around on her finger. Andrew watched the movement instead of answering. She knew that he was technically a violent offender; he didn't need to remind her.

Lips turning up in a forced smile, Cass cleared her throat. “It’s good to see you, Andrew, I miss you at home.”

The gold of her ring was scratched and dull, but it still caught the light as she turned it. Andrew watched that instead of looking at her face.

“I’m thinking of making those monster cookies tomorrow. The ones with the bits of candy bars in them? I wish they would let me bring you some, they were always your favourite. You used to always try to eat all the chocolate before the batter was ready,” a weak chuckle passed through her lips. Her ring kept turning.

“I heard you joined a pen pal program,” Cass said when it was clear Andrew wasn’t going to say anything, “have you gotten any letters yet?” She asked. Andrew still heard what she left out. _Have you gotten mine?_

Andrew turned his gaze to his own hands on the table. He had bitten his nails down again, the skin cracked and sore. The habit had started to combat the twitching that happened when he craved a cigarette, and he had been craving those a lot this week. Pushing his fingertips into the table, Andrew focused on the dull pain the action caused instead of the trembling of Cass’ voice.

He could hear Cass was trying not to cry. She always tried to be happy during these visits; so excited to see Andrew. Even when he never said a word.

The pain of seeing the mother he had given up, the first person who had wanted him, was painful enough. He couldn’t talk to her, tell her how much he hated being chained up and escorted. He couldn’t say he wanted to make monster cookies with her and eat the ingredients as they worked so they never had enough for the actual cookies. If he opened his mouth, he might tell her that he couldn’t be hers because he had to protect someone he didn’t even know. He might tell her how much he wanted to keep her, and how he was still paying for it. Even worse, he might find himself telling her about the monster she lived with and she might not believe him. She might hate him. If he opened his mouth, Andrew might never see Cass again.

“Officer Higgins, you remember him, right? What am I saying, of course you do. You always had such a good memory. Always helping me remember the grocery lists and where I put my keys." Andrew breathed through his nose slowly, pushing away memories of wandering the aisles, getting to pick what foods he liked. "What was I saying? Oh, Officer Higgins, right! he told me you’re doing well on the exy team here. Apparently you’re very talented,” she said it like a question, waiting for Andrew to speak. The ring kept turning. His fingertips kept burning.

Cass was still talking. “I always knew you were special, Andrew. It would be nice to see you play. I saw they have a game coming up where families can come watch. Do you think we’d be able to come? I know Drake wants to see you again.”

Andrew’s blood turned to ice in his veins, a shrill scream echoing in his ears. He pushed his fingers harder into the table, trying to block out the hollow emptiness rising in him. Trying not to think about his bedroom door creaking open. Hands holding him down. Hot breath in his ear. _Quiet now, AJ. You don’t want to wake mom up, do you?_

“Andrew?” Cass sounded like she was underwater, or maybe that was Andrew. He certainly felt like he was drowning.

Her hand reached across the table to grab his own; her ring glinting in the light. The brush of her skin against his made him flinch back, bile burning his throat.

There was something shredding him from the inside, and he needed to get it out. The careful control he had fought so hard for was slipping through his fingers. He could feel someone at his back, pushing, grabbing, _touching._ Curling his fists in his lap, Andrew squeezed as hard as he could, digging his ragged nails into his palms. The tiny points of pain helped Andrew focus, just in time to notice a guard walking over to escort him back to his room.

“Andrew? Sweetie, please look at me.” It took everything in him not to flinch.

No matter what happened to him, Andrew couldn't let Aaron suffer the way he had. He would do everything in his power to ensure that his brother never fell into Drake's hands. He would destroy himself before letting that happen. The guard reached their table and Andrew stood to leave. Pulling air into his lungs, he finally looked Cass in the eye, and he opened his mouth. 

“Stop writing me.”

The words were razors in his mouth, cutting both of them. As he left, he could see her tears finally falling, a broken sob escaping her. Something in his chest twisted, snagging on what was left of his heart. It felt like dying. He pictured Aaron as he walked away, reminding himself to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

The guard's hands patting him down after plunged Andrew further into his memories. There was pressure on his throat that felt like hands. The cuffs were fingers holding him down. He swore he could feel bruises forming across his body. He'd have to hide them again. By the time he made it back to his bunk, he was crawling out of his skin. The very thought of touching a bed was too much. Pulling himself on top of his dresser, he glared at his bunkmate until he went back to his book. If he came too close to Andrew right now, he might end up with a few broken bones.

To stop himself from shaking, Andrew locked his body down, trapping everything inside. His anger and pain howled in the cavern that had been carved out of him, a snarling and wicked beast. It demanded to hurt and maim, to lash out at those who created it, but Andrew kept it locked up tight, where it could only cut him.

The memories of hands on his skin kept Andrew locked in place all night, unmoving until the door unlocked for breakfast. The anger had finally burned throughout his entire body, leaving nothing but ruin and ash behind.

He knew he deserved only the absolute _nothing_ that was left inside him. It was so much better than the awful storm that was feeling anyway.

If he was smart, Andrew would forget about unanswered letters and focus on surviving until his term in juvie was over. Maybe then he could figure out how to live without needing others and how to accept that he would always be on his own.

Maybe then he would finally stop feeling.

Maybe then he would finally just stop.

On his way to eat breakfast in the same cafeteria he sat in yesterday, Andrew reminded himself of a few things:

  1. He couldn’t keep Cass.
  2. He couldn’t have Aaron.
  3. In three letters he would lose Hatford.



Andrew really should know better by now. He wasn’t allowed to want things. He never was.

Still, he wasn't ready to lose everything just yet. If Hatford kept to his promises, Andrew would still have three more letters to puzzle through. He would just need to make the best of it.

_Hatford_

_There are far better ways for me to let you know just how unimpressive your little rant was than simply saying ‘fuck you’. But it does sum things up quite nicely, doesn’t it?_

_Do you have much experience with coming up with fake names, Hatford? You accuse me of lying but have done nothing to prove you have not done the same._

_Tell me something true._

_-Doe_

_P.S. Fuck you. I never lied._


	3. Stolen Goods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I hope everyone treats themselves to something good!

_Doe,_

_You want something true? Every time I read your letters it makes me want to disappear. I don’t know why I even bother opening them. Which is incredibly stupid considering you don’t know who I am, and we’ll never meet. There’s no reason for me to run from you._

_There is some comfort in knowing exactly where you are, and knowing you are stuck there. Do you miss the outside? How could you not?_ _I’m currently debating using my last two letters to you to just write down every place I can to go to whenever I want because I didn’t get myself locked up._

_-Hatford_

_P.S. There is a certain irony in getting you as my partner._

The room Andrew sat in reeked of unwashed bodies; the oppressive heat of the California sun seeping through the windows. It made him uncomfortably hot and itchy under his cotton sweater, but Andrew wouldn’t bear his arms here, where there were too many eyes. His short stature had made people think he would be an easy target when he first arrived, but Andrew had learned how to fight larger opponents early on, and he wasn’t above fighting dirty. The first day of his term had ended in a fight that sent three kids into the infirmary, and one to an outside hospital. By the end of his first week, two more kids had bruised bodies and egos. Not long after, the other kids here had learned to leave him alone. A reminder was needed, every once in a while, but generally, Andrew was given a wide berth. It had become even larger since he had taken up weights during rec time.

So, he was not about to show them something they would no doubt see as a weakness.

Resisting the urge to roll up his sleeves, Andrew tried to focus back on the circle of teens before him.

“It’s just, I don’t know,” Jason, a beefy kid here for theft, was talking, slouched down and picking a loose thread on his shirt, “I got sick of being look over. Like, my brother was the golden boy, mister popular, the best thing that happened to my parents, and I always felt like second best, you know?”

No, Andrew did not know. He wasn’t even on the radar for most of the homes he lived in, and he tried not to be. In his experience, being noticed only ever lead to vicious words and heavy hands or worse. If you were ignored, you could avoid trouble and steal what you needed. He learned to take care of himself, and the threat of being discovered and punished had always been a good teacher.

It was strange, how he could understand what Hatford meant, by wanting to disappear. To leave this shitty life - and the people who liked to hurt him - behind. But Hatford had been oddly specific about running; an option Andrew had never really had. He had tried a few times, in the beginning. But the streets were an unfriendly place for a small kid, and he never lasted long. Pigs would always pick him up, or starvation or the cold would force him back. If the homes had noticed his absence, he was not welcomed back with open arms. 

Idly, Andrew wondered if Hatford was once a runaway. If that was why he had needed a fake name. But then, what was he running from? His parents maybe, hence the uncle. He didn’t seem to be running anymore if he was doing this program. Did he feel safe enough to stop, or was running no longer an option for him?

Tapping his fingers against his thighs, Andrew thought about how Hatford found comfort in knowing Andrew was stuck in a detention centre. He wouldn’t be able to know when Andrew was to be released but he obviously liked being able to keep tabs on him, even for a brief amount of time.

Which was all they had anyway, Andrew remembered with a grimace. Two more letters and Hatford would disappear, just like he wanted.

“I just wanted to be _noticed,_ ” Jason was saying, flailing his arms about. Jesus, was this kid still talking? “That’s probably why I started stealing shit.”

Payton was nodding, like this was some incredible breakthrough. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bloodshot. It wasn’t the first time he had looked like this, and Andrew didn’t think it was because of the heat. When he had spotted Payton earlier, he had been angry and short-tempered, but clear-eyed. Andrew’s fingers twitched. Jason's never-ending rant about his sorry excuses for stealing gave him an idea. He could use the practice anyway, he decided as Jason kept yammering on. Andrew had free time after dinner, and Payton usually left at five. If he could get into his office, he was sure he would find something worth his while in there. He had spotted the man smoking on his breaks, and Andrew suspected that wasn't the only thing Payton had stashed in his office.

Sweat trickled down his neck, prickling and awful. God, it was too fucking hot.

“Thank you for sharing,” Payton said, drawing Andrew’s attention to the group once again. “Who would like to share next? Andrew?”

Of course. One would think Payton would have figured out by now that Andrew wasn’t going to speak a word in these sessions. Staring resolutely at the wall across from him, Andrew crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

Payton waited for a beat before speaking, “Andrew, you have yet to share with the group. A lot of boys find it useful to discuss things with their peers. What would you like to share?”

Andrew didn’t want to share anything, so he didn’t. He kept staring at the wall, unmoving and unmoved by Payton’s continued pleas and threats. Andrew disliked Payton on the best of days, but he was especially irritated with the man currently. In their last private session, he had tried to use Cass against Andrew again but after pulling up his file, he had quickly realized that it was a dead end. She had been removed from Andrew’s visiting list, and therefore removed from his life. Cass was no longer a loaded gun pointed at his chest, but a hollow ache.

It was better this way.

After five minutes of Andrew refusing to speak, Payton blew a harsh breath out through his nose and moved on.

Andrew resisted the urge to smirk.

~~~

It was too easy to get into Payton’s office. During free time, Andrew went to the rec room, where most of the boys in his pod usually congregated. The room was essentially a giant classroom with a TV on one wall. Most of the kids would watch whatever movie was playing, while others would play cards. The heat had driven everyone inside today, the yard soaking up the heat and turning it into a giant oven. Of course, the facility left the usual three guards to watch the room, instead of getting a few more in to watch the increase of bodies.

Andrew sauntered up to the closest one, who looked down at him with a frown.

"What?" He asked gruffly.

"I want to go to the library," Andrew said, holding up his book, "I finished this."

The guard glanced around, at the mass of bodies and two adults.

"You need to be escorted."

Andrew huffed, "It'll take forever for someone to come get me. I'll come right back."

The guard looked uneasy, taking in Andrew's height and blank face. Andrew thought he was going to need to try a different approach when the guard sighed. "Name?"

"Andrew Doe."

"Ten minutes and I'll come looking for you."

Andrew gave the man a two-fingered salute and left the rec room.

The offices were off a hallway just past the library’s doors, and Payton’s was the first on the right. He would need to be quick, but it was laughable how easy it was to get in. Two minutes after leaving the rec room, Andrew was crouched in front of Payton’s office door, lockpicks in hand. Keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps, he made quick work of the lock and slipped inside. The door closed with a soft thump behind him as he moved quickly to the desk, trying drawers.

The top one held pens and a half pack of cigarettes. Pocketing a few from the pack, he moved on to the next drawer, closing it when it was just files and notebooks. He had no interest in what issues the other teens in the facility had. The final drawer was locked, and after picking it open, Andrew discovered a stash of mini bottles hidden at the back. Triumph warm in his chest, Andrew shoved a few up his sleeves, and more into his socks.

Fuck Payton.

Slipping back out the door, he finally made his way into the library. It had taken Andrew less than five minutes to get in and out, and he doubted anyone would notice. Replacing his copy of _King Lear_ for _Fahrenheit 451,_ Andrew waved to the attendant as he left. When he made it back to the rec room, Andrew made sure to lock eyes with the same guard who let him out, lifting up his new book for him to see.

Settling down at a desk, he read for the rest of the time, the bottles warming against his skin.

~~~

He made it back to his room without incident and quickly hid his bounty. The cigarettes were hidden within Hatford’s letters under his pillow, and the alcohol was placed in a pilfered plastic bag and shoved into a hole in his mattress. His roommate gave him a raised brow, but the other boy knew by now not to ask questions.

Later, when he was lying flat on his back, Andrew could feel the lump by his hip, but the discomfort was worth it. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling once again, Andrew wondered if Hatford could pick locks. It seemed like a necessary skill for a runaway to have. He could try asking, but Hatford didn’t seem like the kind of person who would give direct answers to things. At least, not for free. Andrew knew he himself wasn’t.

But Andrew was curious, and he had questions that needed answers. If he only had two more letters, he should try and get as much information as possible from Hatford. He was too good of a puzzle to let go of so easily. Mouth twisting in a scowl, Andrew knew that if he wanted information, he would have to be willing to give something up in return.

Equal exchange, Andrew decided. That was the only way to do this. Hopefully, Hatford’s deals extended outside his uncle, and he would accept this one. He would just need to be smart about what he asked.

_Hatford_

_I should have guessed you were a rabbit. If conversing with me through these letters makes you want to run, I wonder how long you’d last face to face? Hypothetically, of course. I know you have no interest in us actually meeting._

_You would be surprised what you don't miss when it's taken away, and what you can find in juvie if you know where to look. You can waste your last two letters in a failed attempt to spite me if you wish, but I’ll offer you a deal instead. Question for question. Truth for truth._

_I promise not to lie, and I expect you to do the same. As you said, we’ll never meet anyway, and I don’t care enough to spread your secrets._

_I’ll start: Why did your uncle make you sign up for this shit?_

_-Doe_

_P.S. The irony of being paired with someone without a name for this idiotic program is truly hilarious. Do try to contain your laughter, I know I will._


	4. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been having some MAJOR writer's block this week and then I lost about half of this chapter somehow. But it's Wednesday so I did my best to get this done.
> 
> Warnings for this are some mentions of Andrew's past.

_Doe,_

_How do I know you won’t lie? I have no idea who you even are. But I suppose that’s the beauty of this though, isn’t it? We’ll never be able to verify what we say to each other. It makes this easier somehow. I’ll tell you now though, there are some answers I can’t give you._

_My uncle was concerned that I was isolating myself. According to him, kids my age should have friends and go out. Personally, I think that’s bullshit and that I’m fine on my own. It’s safer that way._

_My question: Why is your name Doe?_

_-Hatford_

_P.S. Here’s something to spite you: I found an exy court in my city today. Maybe I’ll go play because, unlike you, I’m free._

Andrew ran a finger along the edge of the newest letter, not quite hard or fast enough to break his skin. It had been delivered to him two days ago, and he hadn't decided how to answer yet. It wasn't that he didn't know what he wanted to say (exy is boring, that question is boring, _stop being interesting anyway_ ), but he couldn't bring himself to write anything down. Deep down, he knew he was only delaying Hatford's last letter. The disastrous scrawl had become a familiar comfort to Andrew, much to his dismay. He supposed Hatford was right, it was easier to talk without having to look at someone, or hear their judgments. It gave Andrew the needed space to really think about what he could say, and not have to deal with pitying looks. The letters, unfortunately, were allowing Andrew to speak to someone without wanting to bash their teeth in.

"Hey, Doe?" Speaking of bashing teeth in.

Andrew flicked his gaze towards his roommate. _Oscar Evered,_ he reminded himself. The kid had moved in a few weeks ago but had heard from the other boys that Andrew was dangerous if provoked and had kept to himself for the most part. It had been almost enjoyable. Andrew wasn't sure why the kid wanted to press his luck now.

When Andrew just kept his blank stare on him, Evered began to shuffle on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "I heard your uncle was coming to visit soon."

It wasn't a question, so Andrew didn't see the point in answering. If he did, it wouldn't be anything nice. He turned back to the letter in his hand, studying how Hatford wrote his _f_ s almost like an 8, where he just looped his pen up to make the cross. It was very different from Andrew's precise lettering, and he found it almost endearing.

"Is that a new letter from your mom?" Evered popped up to look over the side of Andrew's bed, reaching towards the paper in his hand.

Immediately, Andrew shoved him back, sending him sprawling on the floor with a cry. Launching himself off the mattress, Andrew crouched over Evered's prone body and smashed his fist into his jaw, snapping his head back to bounce off the floor. Ignoring his small whimper, Andrew pulled him up by his shirt collar until they were almost nose to nose.

"You were better off staying quiet. I'll say this once. Don't fucking touch me. Don't touch my things. If you try that shit again, you'll lose the hand."

Andrew didn't ask if he understood. He either did or he didn't, and Andrew didn't make idle threats. Shoving Evered back onto the floor, Andrew made sure Hatford's letters were safely stored back under his pillow. A moment later, the buzzer for dinner sounded, the door opening to let them out. Andrew made his way to the cafeteria without looking back at his still crying roommate.

He would learn to leave Andrew alone, just like everyone else did.

_~~~_

The goalie racket was heavy in Andrew’s hands, the chipped wood digging into his gloves. While Orav prattled on about plays and teamwork, Andrew studied the boy in front of him. He was new to the facility, was a good six inches taller than Andrew, his hair sandy-blond and thick. Apparently, he was here for arson. Andrew thought that was a lie. Many teens thought to lie about why they were sent here, trying to sound more dangerous than they were. If Andrew cared to guess, he would say theft. He had watched the kid snatch at meal trays and shove objects up his sleeves almost absentmindedly. He had gotten punched more than once already in his three days here.

What Andrew was more interested in was the way the exy shorts he was wearing highlighted some _very_ appealing features.

The first time Andrew had caught himself studying the way a boy’s throat sloped into freckled shoulders, he had felt nothing but self-loathing and revolution. He had been convinced he was turning into his abusers, that he was destined to hurt the way he had been hurt. Andrew had thought, for a while, that they had known what he was, and that it was his fault. Nausea had stuck with him for days after. Each time he found his eyes straying he would bite his cheek hard enough to draw blood or carve another line in his skin. He had been convinced he had been ruined.

He could remember when he had stared at a classmate for too long while waiting for his ride after school, and Drake had seen when he had come to pick Andrew up. That night Cass and Richard had been out, a friend of theirs having a dinner party and Drake had been all too willing to watch his 'dear baby brother'. The feeling of teeth digging into his shoulder, the whispered _I knew you liked it_ still sent Andrew jolting awake some nights.

When Andrew had been sent to juvie, the fear of what had been done to him and what he was feeling had crippled him. It was his first roommate, Smith, who had changed things for him. He was older than Andrew, but not much taller. He showed him how to hide contraband and make a toothbrush sharp enough to cut. He had also been the first boy Andrew had kissed voluntarily. It had been nice, until one day Smith had grabbed him, and Andrew used that toothbrush against him.

Now, Smith was gone, earning himself an early release months ago, but Andrew knew what it felt like to be in control. He knew what it felt like to have a boy willingly be under his hands; to hear a _yes._ He also knew some people needed reminding not to touch, and that those people generally didn’t come back after a gaining black eye or having a sharp edge pressed against them. Andrew knew what it was like to touch and not cause pain, but pleasure. He knew what he needed to have someone that close, and what boundaries had to be stated before anything could start.

So, when the new boy turned and caught Andrew’s gaze, Andrew lifted a brow. The answering blush and fumbling with his helmet was promising.

When Orav blew his whistle, motioning for Andrew to go in goal, he slung his racket over his shoulder and made his way over. It took a second for Andrew to recognize they were setting up for a scrimmage, and he let out a breath through his nose. The backliners he was given were awful, and Andrew couldn’t find the energy to care enough to try.

When another ball slammed into the wall behind him without him moving a muscle to stop it, he found himself wondering if Hatford was any good. He had mentioned playing in a misguided attempt to make Andrew jealous, so he obviously enjoyed the sport. Then Andrew realized he was thinking about _exy,_ so he sent the next ball shot at him flying to the other end of the court in retaliation.

Fucking Hatford.

~~~

Orav finally switched Andrew out of goal after another ten minutes of zero effort. Content to watch for the rest of practice, Andrew flopped down on the bench, draping his racket over a shoulder. He got the same one every time because the other goalie was afraid of him and always grabbed the shittier one, even when Andrew waited until last to grab his gear.

Watching kids slam each other into walls was only so entertaining, so Andrew cast his mind to something else.

Payton told him yesterday that Luther would be here in two weeks for visitation, and Andrew had a call with him before then. Luther was determined to reunite Andrew with his 'long-lost family’ and couldn’t take no for an answer. The fact that Andrew’s uncle, and not his so-called mother, was the one trying to reach him, didn’t seem strange to anyone but him, apparently. Thankfully, Aaron would not be joining Luther, so at least Andrew didn’t need to worry about facing that issue.

The exy ball slammed into the plexiglass in front of Andrew, and the boy beside him flinched. Andrew cracked his knuckles one by one, watching Orav’s brows draw closer and closer together. His hand was already beginning to bruise from hitting Evered's jaw, and a dull flare of pain shot up Andrew's arm when he pressed on the discoloured skin.

Not wanting to think about his family any longer, Andrew focused on another.

He was almost certain by now that Hatford lived with his uncle, and his parents weren’t in the equation. Andrew had a feeling the answers Hatford wouldn’t be able to give him had something to do with them, due to their complete absence from his letters so far. But asking him straight on would probably get him nowhere.

Andrew had already figured out that Hatford wasn’t friendly, his first letter had been very clear on that front, but apparently his isolation was extreme enough to cause concern. Not like Andrew was one to talk though. It was almost funny, two boys who wanted nothing to do with others, being forced into this program and being paired with each other.

As Andrew watched Orav yell at the backliners, he found himself wishing that Hatford would stay, just a little longer.

_Hatford_

_I take my deals very seriously and don’t break my promises. I’ll keep my word and won’t lie to you, so you’d better do the same._

_I’m ‘Doe’ because that’s the name they give kids in foster care that don’t have one. Like a dead body, get it? It doesn’t matter. The world is a cruel place, but you knew that already. You wouldn’t be talking to me if you didn’t._

_That’s my question: What qualified you for this in the first place? From my understanding, poor social skills don’t equal troubled youth._

_-Doe_

_P.S. I play four times a week. Better luck next time._


	5. Cruel People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depressive thoughts.

_Doe,_

_For some reason, I believe you. I’m a known liar, but I’ll do my best to give you the truth._

_You play exy? I didn’t know they’d let you play in juvie. What position do you play? Are you any good? When did you start playing? I used to play backliner when I was younger, but I don’t really play anymore. It’s not very popular where I live, so the court here is only a half and it’s beat to shit. Still, it would be great to play again._

_Fuck you, I don’t have poor social skills. I qualified because my parents weren’t the best. Don’t ask about them, I won’t tell you._

_Question: Why did you get sent to juvie?_

_-Hatford_

_P.S. It’s not the world that’s cruel, Doe. It’s the people in it._

Andrew hated the chair in Payton’s office. It was a metal stool bolted to the ground because the staff believed the youths here couldn’t be trusted not to use it as a weapon. Although, that might have been valid. Payton did inspire some violent thoughts from Andrew. Especially when he was stuck sitting on nothing but a stupid piece of metal. Even worse was the sun that shone through the window, directly onto the stool. Leaving it so the metal was burning hot, and Andrew always left overheated and flushed.

“Your call with your uncle is coming up,” Payton said, shuffling through his files, “you must be excited.”

Andrew did not have the energy for this. He had woken up feeling good, almost great even, but had taken a nosedive for a reason he still couldn’t figure out. He didn’t want to talk about his uncle, or Aaron, or anything. All he wanted to do was find somewhere dark and secluded and never move again. Just sitting upright was costing him too much energy. He just wanted to sleep.

“I’ve spoken to your uncle; he seems like a very intelligent man. A Minister too! That will be good for you.”

If drawing breath didn’t feel like he was battling a weight on his chest, Andrew might have punched him. The last thing Andrew needed was some God-fearing man getting involved in his life, but he supposed it was too late for that now. It made sense that this was why he was so adamant about Andrew ‘reconnecting’ with his family; like he had ever been connected in the first place. It wasn’t about finding something missing. Andrew could never be missed. Anything that was for Andrew's 'own good' was always a front for something selfish. People were always self-serving. He knew this.

“You need a good, stable family in your life, Andrew. Especially since you took your last one off your visiting list. Why did you do that? They were good people with good values. Look at their son! A Marine! If you tried harder to be more like him, you could have done something more with your life.”

Andrew wanted to scream about what ‘values’ he had been shown. He wanted to tell Payton he would sooner bleed himself dry than be anything like Drake. But his mouth stayed shut.

Andrew was tired.

He sat on that hot metal chair, baking in the sun, willing everything to just stop. If the world ended, right now, he could stop trying to hold himself together. He had stitched himself back together so many times, he wasn’t sure if there was anything left in him anymore.

Payton kept talking. “I heard your brother plays exy too, when you write to him, mention that you play. Give yourselves something to talk about.”

Andrew would not write to him. Never said he would.

“Your letter mate is still writing you I see. That’s good! Finally opening up to someone. No one likes people who just sulk all the time.”

Oh.

Hatford.

Maybe that was what was causing this. Andrew got his last letter today. Five letters were bundled under his pillow, the paper turned soft from handling. It was all Andrew was promised, so he didn’t know why it felt like he had been left behind. Hatford had told him he was leaving; he shouldn’t be feeling like this. Andrew already knew that nobody stays. Nothing lasts.

It was his fault for letting himself enjoy it.

It was always his fault.

His arms burned.

Payton’s voice was a buzzing drone at this point. Andrew tried to focus on the paperweight on the desk, a smooth grey rock. Andrew couldn’t be trusted with a chair that had a back or wasn’t bolted to the floor, but a rock within arm’s reach was okay.

His vision kept blurring.

“We’re just about done for the day, so let’s get those questions out of the way.”

Andrew just nodded numbly.

“Thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Verbal answers, Andrew. I’m getting tired of reminding you.” Payton didn’t even glance up from the form.

“No,” his voice sounded far away.

“Any depressive thoughts?”

“No.”

“Strange or sudden feelings of panic?”

“No.”

“Loss of interest in your future or activities you enjoy?”

“No.”

Payton still didn’t look up, just opened his drawer to put away Andrew’s file. “Good. See you next time.”

Andrew left feeling overheated and flushed and completely empty.

~~~

The clattering of a tray hitting the table brought Andrew’s eyes up from his book. The words had been a jumbled mess he couldn’t make sense of; a dull throbbing appearing behind his right eye as he tried. A boy Andrew had never seen before stood over him, a sneer on his pimply face.

Andrew was so tired.

He stared blankly at the boy, observing how the tables around them had fallen into hushed whispers as the other boys looked over at them. No one ever sat near Andrew, his reputation generally giving him the needed breathing room. This kid either hadn’t gotten the memo or was trying to make a point on his first day. Hopefully, he was just slightly stupid and didn’t know how to read a room. Either way, Andrew didn’t want to deal with it. He was just going to pretend to read his shitty book, eat his shitty dinner, have his shitty cookie, and go back to his cell to pretend to read his shitty book until lights out. Maybe, then, he could finally get some fucking sleep.

He pushed the tray to the other end of the table and turned his gaze back to his book. The kid scoffed. Andrew hated that sound. His fingers tightened on the book, pressing his thumbprint into the page.

“I was told not to fuck with you,” the kid said. So he was a bigger idiot than Andrew thought. “You don’t seem too tough. What are you, like four feet? The fuck are people so scared of a midget for?”

Andrew was four foot eleven, and this guy was starting to make something spark under the blanket of _nothing_ he had been carrying around all day.

The guy scoffed again. “What are you retarded? Or just too scared?”

A quick look around the room showed only two guards, who were both by the doors across the room. Their view of the table Andrew was sitting at was obscured by the line. He dragged his eyes slowly over the boy’s form, his face staying completely blank.

“Fuck off,” Andrew drawled. He just wanted to get to his bed.

“Oh, I’m _so_ scared. What are you going to do? Hit me?” The boy laughed and looked around as if someone would join him. No one met his gaze, but they were all watching.

“I will,” Andrew said, “if you don’t leave right now.”

“Zac,” someone called, “leave it, man. You don’t want to do this.”

Zac laughed again, then turned and threw Andrew’s tray onto the floor, his dry chicken and crumbly cookie flying in all directions. The spark turned into something hot, and his gaze sharpened for the first time all day. The boys surrounding them jumped up, to either avoid the food or in preparation to fight. The guards turned their way, but couldn't see through the mass of bodies.

Andrew slipped his thumb to the binding of his book and stood.

Zac was a good head taller than Andrew, his limbs long with little muscle. People always assumed that Andrew was weaker than actually he was, so when he drove his first into Zac’s gut, the look of surprise on his face wasn’t anything new.

As Zac doubled over wheezing, the cafeteria exploded into motion, boys throwing themselves at each other yelling. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh filled the air, almost drowned out by the alarm starting, but Andrew kept his focus on the punch Zac threw his way.

It was too easy to dodge, and then Andrew was driving his foot into Zac’s knee, sending him off balance. Gripping his book, Andrew hammered it across his pockmarked cheek, finally sending him sprawling. Dropping his knee into Zac’s shoulder, Andrew fisted his hand through his greasy hair and yanked his head back. Drawing his sharpened piece of plastic from the binding in his book, he pressed it against the taller boy’s throat just shy of hard enough to cut.

Leaning over him, Andrew hissed through his teeth, “Now, now, I did warn you.” The boy started trying to get up, so Andrew pushed the plastic hard enough to draw blood and caused him to still.

“You’re fucking psycho,” Zac breathed, eyes wild and body trembling.

Andrew spotted more guards pulling kids apart, heading their way.

“Stay out of my way,” he growled, before smashing Zac’s face down, hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose.

Tossing his weapon under the table, Andrew moved off of Zac’s body, backing off a few feet and dropping to his knees before a guard could force him down. His skin crawled with the proximity of so many bodies and the lingering feeling of Zac below him.

~~~

They were put on lockdown because of the riot. Andrew was cleared to return to his cell, the incident with Zac being unseen by the guards. Evered was still missing, either still being cleared or in the infirmary. Andrew didn’t think the kid had it in him to do anything that could get him sent to solitary. With any luck, he would be gone for the night and Andrew could finally be alone.

An hour later, roommate still missing, Andrew settled into his bed. Confident he would be left alone; Andrew closed his eyes and took a breath. The weight on his chest had eased since the fight, but the hollowness still clung to him. During the excitement, he had felt alive; his blood pumping through his veins, adrenaline turning everything up to eleven. Now, the feeling was gone, leaving him with nothing.

Fingering Hatford’s letters, Andrew thought about how he would have run if he had been in the cafeteria. If Hatford was here, maybe he could have offered him protection to make him stay. To stick with Andrew in exchange for his truths. But Hatford wasn’t here, and Andrew wouldn’t be getting any more letters from him.

He could not answer, but he had promised truth for truth and so far Hatford had held up his end of the deal. Andrew owed him one more answer, even if he really didn’t want to think about it.

Why. Hatford had to ask why.

Curling up into himself, Andrew pressed his back hard against the wall and stared at the glowing exit sign above the door. The red light burned itself into his eyes, so even when he blinked, the imprint was there.

Andrew watched the door, not really seeing it.

He was so tired.

_Hatford_

_Exy is boring._

_I got sent to juvie because of my brother._

_-Doe_


	6. Returning Rabbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this earlier but I'm out of town and things have been hectic!
> 
> Warning for a triggered flashback for Andrew.

_Doe,_

_What do you mean exy is BORING? How can you not like exy?! I feel the most real when I’m on a court and I miss playing it with everything I am. I can’t believe you’d call it BORING. I don’t believe that you don’t like playing. That can’t be true, otherwise why even bother doing playing at all?_

_You didn’t ask me a question. Can I still ask you one?_

_What made you do this?_

_-Hatford_

_P.S. Thank you for not asking._

When Andrew saw the envelope on his pillow, he had first thought that Cass had written him again. He had ripped it off his bed, only to recognize the address from the letter mates program. For a moment, he thought Evered had gone through his things, but the boy still jumped anytime Andrew moved too quickly. Andrew doubted he would be stupid enough to try his luck with a still yellowing bruise on his face. Besides, the envelope was crisp and white, not worn like the ones under Andrew's pillow. Then he thought that they had assigned him a new partner and just hadn't told him. It wasn’t until he saw Hatford’s familiar scrawl that he realized he had sent a sixth letter.

The rabbit had stuck around.

Interesting.

Less interesting, however, was this exy obsession.

Andrew thought he had summed up his thoughts on the sport in his previous letter, but Hatford clearly wasn’t going to let this go. Andrew wasn’t going to indulge him in it, but he felt like giving him something for not running.

He hated surprises. He really did. But Hatford never seemed to do what Andrew expected. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep his twitching lips in check, Andrew carefully placed the newest letter with the others.

~~~

The new boy on the exy team was another Smith. There had been a flicker of amusement when Andrew had learned it, but that was where the similarities between the two boys ended. Where Andrew’s old roommate had been dark-skinned and short, exy Smith was pale and tall. Old Smith had been confident and respected, new Smith was nervous and low on the pecking order in the facility. Andrew’s roommate had been all fire and harsh kisses. This new Smith, hidden behind the shed out of the sight of the guards and the boys in the yard, was hesitant and much too _chatty._

Andrew had his hands pinned against the wall by his sides, not trusting the taller boy not to touch. It had only taken a quirked brow and quick head jerk for Smith to follow Andrew back here, all eager smiles and nervous energy. The need for control, especially in situations like this, had driven Andrew to crowd Smith against the wall, grabbing both his wrists as he went. A quick verbal check, Andrew refused to go further without one, and they had crashed together.

Smith was inexperienced and shy, and it manifested in a terrible way.

“I’ve never done this before,” he gasped into Andrew’s mouth, “it’s so exciting.”

Another harsh kiss kept him quiet for a few heartbeats.

“It’s just, I wasn’t sure what to expect-“

“Do you ever shut up?” Andrew growled, nipping at his jaw.

Smith let out a small breathless laugh. “Right, sorry. Shutting up.”

Moving down to kiss Smith’s slender neck, Andrew took a moment to enjoy the small noise that escaped the boy’s mouth. Keeping a few inches between them, Andrew checked with himself. Arousal was growing, spreading through his body, but he didn’t trust the other boy to reach out if he let go of his wrists. It would be nice, to slip his fingers down past the waistband of Smith’s pants, to see exactly what kind of sounds he could pull out of him. Andrew entertained the thought for a moment, let the fantasy slip through his mind, before shutting it down. Not this time.

When Andrew bit Smith’s collarbone, the boy jumped.

“Ah, _shit,_ ” he hissed, hands twisting in Andrew’s grasp, “fuck you’re so hot.”

Andrew almost rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt. Almost.

“Shut _up._ ”

“Sorry, you just feel so good.”

_The room was dark, the body above him heavy. Large hands were holding him down. He was crying, begging for it to stop. A rough tongue scraped against his cheek, finding his tears._

_You feel so good, baby._

Andrew lurched away from him like he had been burned. The all too familiar sickly feeling crawling over his skin was back, clogging his throat. Smith was staring at him with blown eyes, panting and hard. Andrew did his best not to be sick on his shoes.

“Leave,” he gritted through his teeth, breathing hard.

Smith blinked at him, uncomprehending. “What?”

“ _Leave,_ ” his hands were shaking as he fumbled for a cigarette. It took him a few tries to get it lit. The papery smoke scorched his throat, the taste of it coating his tongue. The hit of nicotine didn’t flood his system as he needed it to, and he wanted to crush the cigarette out of spite. Andrew took another drag instead, knowing he had a limited supply.

Smith was still standing there, confused. He glanced down at himself, still clearly aroused. “They’ll see,” he said, his eyes flicking into the direction of the yard.

Andrew shrugged. “Not my problem.”

With a scowl and a huff, Smith adjusted himself the best he could and left Andrew alone.

Leaning back against the wall, Andrew focused on the rough texture digging into his shoulders and the burn of smoke in his lungs. The cigarette burned down enough to singe his fingers, the sharp still of pain bringing Andrew back. He wanted to hit the wall, to fill his skin split under the unyielding surface. He had been having a good day, his body feeling like his own. Burying his fingers in his hair, he gripped and tugged _hard,_ trying to keep his focus. He _hated_ living in a minefield. Everything had been stolen from him. He had been left in ruin.

Letting out a final breath, Andrew drew his blanket of apathy back around him. Shoving everything down deep.

The sun beat down on his head, but it couldn’t quite reach the shadows lurking in his mind.

~~~

People always assumed that Andrew was good at exy because of some natural-born talent. Andrew knew it was more than that. Being in goal required the ability to see the entirety of the court, to read player’s minute movements and tells, and it needed quick reflexes. He had spent his whole life watching for those tiny movements, studying people’s tells. It was an invaluable skill to have when living with people with short tempers. So, watching players for twitches that told Andrew where they would be sending the ball was second nature. Paired with a childhood of needing to react quickly, Andrew could almost say he had been training his entire life.

All of it put together made Andrew a nightmare in goal if he could bother putting the effort into it. But it was rare that he ever felt the urge to do so, much to everyone’s annoyance.

“Doe,” Orav was saying, whistle hanging from around his neck from a string, “I won’t put you in games if you’re not going to try in practice.”

A slow blink was his only answer from Andrew. He wasn’t sure why Orav thought Andrew would care about playing games. No one came to watch him. No one would ever come to see him play. There was no point in trying when nothing would ever come of it.

Andrew was about to flip Orav off - the man didn’t give punishments for little things like that, something Andrew appreciated - when he thought of six pieces of paper under his pillow.

Andrew had told Hatford he played four times a week, and he wasn’t going to be made a liar.

Settling into a ready position, Andrew ignored Orav’s excited grin. Andrew would play, but he was going to play on his terms. The next ball sent his way was slammed back into the striker’s helmet. Behind his mask, Andrew didn’t stop his smirk at Orav’s cursing.

~~~

Smith found him in the locker room after practice. After shucking off his jersey, Andrew felt a body appear beside him, close enough to feel their heat add to his own. Glaring at the taller boy, Andrew turned and shoved him back a step. He already didn’t like being surrounded; crowding him was not helping his mood.

“Hey, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Smith said in a hushed tone, glancing nervously around the room.

Andrew cocked a brow, “Scared they’ll know you like dick?”

Smith’s face immediately blushed furiously, sputtering a denial. “No! I don’t- I mean- I’m not _gay._ ”

“I never said you were.”

“Look,” Smith grumbled, running a hand through his sweaty hair, “I’m straight. Like, completely. I’m not interested in guys. But there’s not a lot of options in here, ya know?”

Andrew did _not_ want to deal with someone else’s sexual crisis. It had taken far too long for him to come to terms with his own, and to accept that his attraction wasn’t a product of circumstance or experience. Listening to someone's denial made his skin itch and his fingers curl into fists.

Something must have shown on Andrew’s face because Smith was immediately backtracking. “Not that I have an issue with people being gay! I’m just…not?”

Turning back to remove the rest of his gear, Andrew decided to just ignore the rest of Smith’s babbling. He didn’t care what Smith’s sexuality was. All Andrew needed was someone who was willing, didn’t touch, and could answer with a 'yes' or a 'no'. Nothing else mattered. Unfortunately, Smith was right about one thing. There weren’t a lot of options in here. Especially when most of the population was afraid to come within ten feet of him or violently homophobic.

Sighing through his nose, Andrew turned back to Smith, effectively cutting off his rambling.

“Listen, if you want to do this, you need to keep your damn mouth shut.”

Smith’s eyes widened, “I won’t tell anyone!”

Andrew smothered the annoyance growing in his chest. “I don’t give a fuck who you tell. I just can’t stand listening to you. Shut the hell up and have your crisis somewhere else. This does not make us friends. I don’t give a shit about you. You are merely convenient and accessible. If you touch me, I will break your hand.”

Intent on that being the end of it, Andrew moved to go shower. Smith opened his mouth again but evidently thought better of it. Good. If Smith could follow Andrew’s rules, then maybe they could both get what they wanted.

_Hatford_

_A sixth letter? Maybe you’re less of a rabbit than I thought._

_I can’t believe I got an exy junkie as a partner. I’ll tell you because you wrote, and so you won’t want to ask me again. They make me play it as part of sports therapy, but they keep me in goal because I’ve been deemed too violent to be anywhere else. The whole program is as pointless as this one, but it gives me a bigger cell._

_I’m in this program because my therapist signed me up 'for my own good’. I wrote you back because you’re interesting. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get bored of you soon._

_Here’s mine: Is Hatford your real name?_

_-Doe_

_P.S. Don’t say stupid things._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone finding the chapter lengths? I'm debating doing longer ones, but I won't be able to post as often. (Also, I keep getting distracted by more AUs/story ideas and have to keep reminding myself to get this one done first.) ANYWAYS let me know if you guys would prefer multiple letters exchanged to make these longer, or if we're happy with shorter ones with more frequent updates!
> 
> Next time: Call with Luther!


	7. Broken Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: There's a panic attack leading to self-harm at the end of this chapter. After the phone call and only briefly. It's not overly graphic, but it's more than just implied. You can skip down to the section right before Andrew's letter if you don't want to read it. Stay safe lovelies!

_Doe,_

_Maybe I just couldn’t stand you insulting exy. Maybe I think you’re interesting too. Either way, I’m still here._

_A criminal who’s too violent to be let out of goal, huh? You must have quite the reputation. I don’t think I’d like you very much if we met in real life. But I think I might like this. I might like writing to you._

_No, Hatford is my uncle’s last name._

_Does your brother visit you?_

_\- Hatford_

_P.S. I went to the grocer’s today. I wondered what you would buy if you could go. I couldn’t stand being trapped. Not being able to escape if I needed to. It would drive me mad. Anyways, I bought oranges and water._

Andrew wasn’t sure what exactly he was feeling, but he was feeling something. Sorting through the warmth in his chest, the prickling in his feet and legs, he decided he hated it, and by extension, Hatford. Who apparently, _wasn’t_ Hatford. Andrew wanted to be angry, but he did tell Andrew that he was a liar, and besides, Andrew had never _asked_ what his name was. He had just used the one given to him since the beginning without really questioning it.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing, was how he didn’t tell Andrew what his name _was,_ and still used his alias.

Reading the letter again, Andrew decided that he was wrong. The most frustrating thing was that apparently he thought about Andrew in his everyday life, and even worse, he _liked_ writing him. Who the fuck was this guy? People didn’t _like_ talking to Andrew. People didn’t think about what Andrew would want from the store; _especially_ when there was no way they could actually get him anything. Andrew was not _interesting._ Andrew was dangerous and needed to be avoided.

Andrew wanted to meet this guy in real life just so he could show him how much he _shouldn’t_ want to talk to Andrew. Maybe Andrew would murder him. Or get him to buy Andrew a pint of ice cream. Andrew wasn’t sure which. Whatever made this _feeling_ go away.

Fuck this guy.

He had just grabbed a piece of paper to tell him _exactly_ what he thought about all of this when a guard rapped twice on the door of the room. Andrew was currently by himself, Evered off in the yard or some other bullshit, otherwise, Andrew would have ignored the man. Looking up, he felt his gut twist unpleasantly.

“Doe, time for your call.”

~~~

The system for calls was, like most things here, heavily flawed. Unless they were speaking to their lawyers, everyone on call was placed in the same hall where a guard stood on either end. There were plastic dividers to give the illusion of privacy but did nothing to block the noise. Of course, someone was also listening in on the call to deter ‘unruly’ behaviour.

Andrew was lead to a phone near the middle, a few feet of space on either side before the next. There was no one on his left, but a boy was already mid-call on his right.

The guard gestured to the phone, “Already connected, you just need to pick up.”

“Joy, oh joy,” Andrew deadpanned, waiting for the guard to leave before turning to grab the receiver.

There was the faint noise of the other end of the call, a strange almost static. If he listened closely, he could hear the faint noise of people breathing. Andrew wondered for a brief moment, that if he just stayed quiet, Luther would give up and go away.

“You’re connected,” the voice of a staff member filtered through when a minute had passed with no noise.

“Oh! I must have missed your hello.” Luther’s voice was deep and stern. He was clearly a man who was used to being listened to. Andrew didn’t bother correcting his mistake.

Luther cleared his throat when Andrew remained silent, “Right. Hello, Andrew. I thought we could talk before I come to visit.”

“Or you could stay out of my life. It’s worked well so far.”

There was a beat of silence where Andrew _knew_ Luther was reining in his anger. He cleared his throat again. “Like I was saying, I wanted to speak to you beforehand. I understand this is a difficult time for you, what with finding out about your real family and being arrested, but this is a good thing. Aaron is very excited to meet you, and your mother is too.”

“She’s not my mother.” Andrew didn’t want to hear about ‘family’. To him, family meant people who were supposed to protect him, but instead, beat him down again and again. Family meant nothing to Andrew.

“She made a mistake; you need to forgive her. It was God’s will that brought you back to us, Andrew, and we need to –“

Andrew scoffed, “Don’t preach to me about your so-called ‘God’. I don’t need to do anything.”

There was a sharp intake of breath before it was let out in a slow, controlled manner. “I understand the instability of your childhood has left you with poor mannerisms. We’ll be sure to correct that when you move here.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Of course you are, you need to be with your family. As I said, Aaron was very excited to hear about you. It was very rude what you wrote back to him, but your foster mother did tell us you were going through a rough time.” Andrew’s hand tightened around the phone, the plastic creaking. “We’re working on you getting an early release, but things take time. When we get everything sorted, you can move in with your mother and Aaron here in South Carolina. They can’t wait to have you home.”

The boy beside Andrew started crying, forcing Andrew’s jaw to clench.

“My wife, Maria, and I also live in the city with our son, Nicholas. He’s a little older than you are. He also had some,” he paused for a moment, his tone holding poorly veiled disgust, “trouble that we had to help him with, but he’s been cured with the help of God. He’s currently in Germany, but he’ll be home after the school year ends.”

Andrew felt like his skin was too tight. The way Luther was speaking, Andrew thought he might get stab the man if they ever met. He had a feeling what his cousin's 'trouble’ may have been. Luther was just another adult who couldn't see Andrew as more than an object. A misplaced piece in his little life. Something dropped along the way, unmissed until someone else pointed it out. Now suddenly Andrew was needed back, to help this man have his perfect little family. What Andrew wanted didn't matter. It _never_ mattered.

“Aaron wanted to speak to you, but with school and exy he’s been very busy. We’ll make sure he gets down for a visit soon.”

“No,” Andrew said.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want him here.”

“Andrew,” Luther spoke like a command, superior and unchallengeable, “your brother wishes to see you. Even after the trouble you’ve caused him. We thought he’d be able to come to our first one, but he’s a bit upset. Understandably so.” He said pointedly. Andrew’s jaw ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth. “So, we’ll aim for the second one.”

The air was thinning around him. Aaron couldn’t be here. Andrew had worked too hard to keep him away, to keep him safe. He had given up _everything_ for him, and Luther was about to ruin it all.

“I don’t want him here. I don’t want any of you here. Fuck off,” Andrew snarled before slamming the phone down.

The anger was still bubbling in his chest, so he slammed it down again and again and again until the plastic snapped and broke off, cutting into his palm. Blood pooled immediately, dripping onto the floor. He was going to lose everything when he had _nothing._ Andrew punched the wall once. Twice. Before he could connect a third time, a guard was yanking his arm back, throwing him off balance.

“ _Calm down,_ ” the man snarled, pulling Andrew away from the broken phone, “you’re going into solitary for that stunt.”

Andrew knew if he struggled the man would pin him on the ground until he complied. That awful oily feeling was too close to the surface, so Andrew let the man haul him away. He felt too hot, something buzzing under his skin.

When he was thrown into the small cell, the door slamming behind him, Andrew felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. The door behind him felt too flimsy, leaving him vulnerable. Slamming his back into the far wall away from the bed, Andrew pushed his body into a tight ball in the corner, keeping watch on the door.

His breathing was too fast, his head dizzy. Everything was _too much too loud too close to his skin._

Gulping desperately for air, Andrew ripped his sleeves up, exposing his scarred skin. Slipping out the shard of glass he kept in his shoe, Andrew pressed the edge into his skin.

The pain was sharp, focusing, soothing. The first cut allowed him to take his first breath in what felt like years.

The pain was control. Each time his skin split under his hand it was proof he could do _something._ That he had control over _some_ part of himself.

Andrew fell into a haze, focusing on the methodical movement of his hands.

When he was done, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him and breathed.

~~~

It took him a week to be moved back to his room with Evered. By that time, the cuts had scabbed, but were still red and inflamed from Andrew’s picking. The first thing he noticed upon entering was the blank paper on his bed. He never finished his letter.

_Does your brother visit you?_

Gritting his teeth, Andrew felt the urge to punch the rabbit. He hated him. He hated him for asking. He hated himself more for starting this stupid game.

_I wondered what you would buy if you could go._

He hated him for thinking about Andrew. Hated how he let him know.

_But I think I might like this. I might like writing to you._

He hated him so much.

Hauling himself up onto the bed, Andrew grabbed his paper again. Words felt like weapons, shredding his mind before he could even write them. Nothing was right. Andrew needed truth. It was why he had started this.

Liar. Runner. Troubled. Afraid. Alone.

These were truths, but also things that could change. He couldn’t trust the rabbit.

Picking up his pen, Andrew used up the rest of the words he had to offer and sent them away.

_Rabbit_

_I’ve never met my brother._

_Is anything about you real?_

_-Doe_

_P.S. Ice cream and cigarettes._


	8. Swallow and Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, another chapter! It snowed here today, so once again I opted to just stay inside and write something.  
> Also, I know the chapter title is suggestive, but nothing like that happens in this part. I'm honestly just too tired to think of another one.

_Doe,_

_Fuck you. You said you wouldn’t lie to me. You say that you’ve never met your brother, but you got sent to juvie because of him? How is that even possible. If you’re going to break the rules that YOU made then I won’t answer your questions._

_And I’m not a rabbit._

_\- Hatford_

“Andrew, you were sent to solitary last week. Care to explain?”

Payton’s face was flushed a deep red today, eyes narrowed and angry. Andrew really didn’t care to explain. He didn’t really care to do anything today. His arms were hot and itchy, and he was pretty sure one of his cuts was infected. They had bandaged his hand while he was in solitary but hadn’t thought to ask him to roll up his sleeves. While Andrew didn’t want anyone to report his lapse to Payton, he could have used something to clean them out earlier. The soap from the showers was cheap and he had access to them less than he needed.

Andrew’s temper was frayed to its limit today, and he found his mouth opening before he could stop it.

“Not really,” he said.

“Oh, so you _can_ speak,” Payton huffed, annoyed.

Andrew narrowed his eyes at the man. This was why he didn’t speak to him, each time he did, he was met with scorn. There was no point wasting his words on someone who wouldn’t listen anyway.

Payton slurped from his cold coffee.

Andrew crossed his stinging arms.

“Jesus, you like to make things difficult, don’t you? I’m trying to help you, Andrew.” Payton tossed his pen onto the desk in frustration. Andrew watched it roll until it fell over the edge, disappearing between the desk and the wall. He found some satisfaction in imagining Payton on the floor looking for it.

“Andrew, pay attention,” Payton snapped, his face twisted, “I’m sick of your behaviour. You destroyed property in a fit of rage and are continuing to refuse help from everyone. Frankly, it’s juvenile and pathetic.”

“I am in juvie,” Andrew pointed out.

And oh, he didn’t know someone’s face could turn purple that fast.

“Listen here you little shit, I am out of patience for you. I’ve seen your files from foster care, by the way, and I noticed a trend.” Suddenly Andrew felt like he was standing on the edge of a steep cliff, but Payton just kept going, either not noticing Andrew’s sudden frozen state, or uncaring. “You always caused problems. Hitting your foster families, running away, getting into fights at school. It’s no wonder no one wanted to keep you.”

“Cass did,” it slipped out before Andrew could stop it, the words burning his tongue.

Payton sneered, “And you fucked that up, didn’t you? You’re self-destructive and unstable. Because you refuse my help, I’m changing course. You’ll be taking mood-stabilizers as of today.”

“No,” Andrew snarled. His chest was constricting, his heart beating too fast. He wasn’t going to be put on medication just because he didn’t want to tell some asshole all of his issues.

“ _Yes,_ ” Payton was leaning over the desk now, “you don’t get a choice in this. You are _my_ patient and will do as I say!”

Everything was getting louder, his thoughts getting harder to grasp. They felt slippery and disjointed, half-formed at best. He was not going to roll over and let another person who was supposed to _help him_ slice him open again. He promised himself he would never let someone do that to him again, and Andrew always kept his promises.

“You’ll take them at mealtimes. Go to the infirmary before the cafeteria from now on. They’ll give them to you there to make sure you take them. Got it?”

“Fuck you.”

“Cute,” Payton sneered, “let’s hope these drugs curb that attitude of yours. Now I’m tired of this, so let’s get your questions out of the way. Thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

“Yes.”

Payton cocked a brow, “Oh? Care to explain?”

“I’m thinking of skinning some asshole with a superiority complex alive and running him up the flagpole.”

“Get out.”

“Gladly.”

Andrew made sure to kick the desk on his way out, relishing in Payton’s slight jump. Payton could spew his threats all he wanted; Andrew was itching for a fight anyway.

~~~

The thought of burying a shiv into Payton’s kidney was far too appealing to Andrew. Unfortunately, all it would do would throw him in the maximum-security portion of the facility and have time added to his term. While Andrew had nowhere to be after juvie, he also didn’t fancy being locked in a cage with so many adults and angry boys any longer than he had to. So, he needed a different way to get rid of Payton.

And Andrew was nothing if not resourceful.

At the infirmary, they handed him a paper cup with a small white tablet inside. When Andrew was nine, one of his foster mothers used to try and force pain killers down his throat to make him more agreeable and less likely to complain about the bruises she gave him. So when they had him open his mouth to check to see if he swallowed it, Andrew knew exactly how to hide the small pill.

He waited until he was halfway to the cafeteria before slipping the pill out of his mouth and into his pocket.

The cafeteria was loud when he arrived. Snagging a tray Andrew grabbed his dinner and sunk onto the bench at his usual table. It didn’t take long for Spencer, an older teen with flinty grey eyes, to slide in across from him.

“Hey, Doe,” he started, casting a quick glance at the guards at the door, “couldn’t help but notice you were late to dinner.”

“And?”

Spencer’s fingers were tapping an irregular rhythm on the tabletop, “ _And,_ that usually means you had to be somewhere else first. What’d they put you on? Anti-psychotics? ‘Bout time.”

“You got a point?” Andrew asked, ripping his sandwich into small pieces.

Spencer gave a jerky shrug, “Depends on if you’re looking to trade.”

“Depends on what you’re willing to trade,” Andrew shot back.

“Cigs,” Spencer says easily, “One a pill.”

“Two a pill.”

Spencer’s fingers drum against the table. “How many times a day they got you for?”

“Before meals.”

“Mmm,” Spencer hums, glancing at the guards again. Giving Andrew a jerky nod, he slips two cigarettes out of his sleeve, sliding them under Andrew’s tray. Andrew pushes his cup towards him in return.

Checking inside quickly, Spencer flashes Andrew a smile and slips away back to his table. Hiding his new cigarettes in the wrapping around his hand, Andrew goes back to his meal in silence.

~~~

For the next couple of weeks, Andrew watches Spencer closely. So far, he had been quick to find Andrew either during meals, in class, or during rec time to swap with him. Andrew knows Spencer likes to use most of the pills he gets from the kids in here, and if he doesn’t like the effects he trades them away for a higher price. Because of this habit, Andrew notices when he starts to become more subdued. He seems almost lethargic, taking longer to answer questions or respond to jabs. He also appears more agreeable, letting one boy push him down with nothing more than a laugh in return.

He has never hated Payton more.

It makes it easier though, to pretend to be drugged during his sessions.

“Okay Andrew, tell me how you’re feeling today.”

Andrew waited for a beat, blinking slowly as Spencer now does. “Good.”

Payton’s smirk forces Andrew to clench his fists to stop himself from lashing out. “Glad to hear. Medication is working for you?”

A slow nod.

Payton’s smirk grows wider. “See? If you had been listening to me this whole time, you would have been a lot farther along.”

Andrew keeps nodding and giving short answers when needed. When Payton finally dismisses him, he feels nauseous and dirty. He reminds himself it will be over soon and crawls into his bed before dinner. Soon, he'll make sure Payton can't touch him. Sliding his hand under his pillow, he traces the edges of the newest envelope there.

The accusation hurt more than Andrew thought it would. For the past few weeks, he had been debating not answering at all. It would be easy to just get rid of the letters, pretend like they never existed, but he would never be able to forget. And worse still, he _wanted_ to keep writing to him. These past few weeks had almost been painful, with no sharp-tongued puzzle to keep him entertained. Andrew shouldn’t answer for that alone. But Andrew wasn’t as smart as he wanted to be, and he was still interested. He knew that if he wanted answers, he would need to give something up, and it made his stomach turn.

Maybe one day, he thought as he pulled out a piece of paper, someone would listen to him, and his words would stop being wasted.

_Rabbit_

_I never lied to you._

_We got put into the system when we were born. Apparently, we’re identical twins. He got taken back by his mother a few days later, I didn’t. Last year he got mistaken for me by a Pig that worked with a youth program I was in. He wanted to meet, but I told him to fuck off. He kept pushing. I did what I did to protect him. Don’t ask me about it again._

_I’ve answered two questions now. You owe me._

_\- Doe_

_P.S. Stop running and maybe I’ll believe you._


	9. Stay Quiet, Be Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, another chapter! 
> 
> Some sexual content in this part; nothing overly graphic.

_Doe,_

_I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not sure I am. But I’m not sure I’m not either._

_No. Nothing about me is real. I am a liar. I am nothing. And I am so tired of it. I want to be real more than anything. I used to get that feeling playing exy, but I don’t even have that anymore. I spend every single day in my uncle’s house wishing I was real. I run every day because I don’t know how to do anything else. It’s an itch under my skin telling me to move, to not stay still. Do you ever get that?_

_My uncle has business in California coming up. He asked me if I wanted to come, but I said no. I hate it there and don’t want to go back. He told me if I stay here, I’ll need to have people watch me. I’m not sure if I hate that more. It still feels like a cage._

_Ask your question then._

_-Hatford_

_P.S. I saw something on my run today, made me think of you. It was a raccoon, stuck in a live trap. It just kept staring at me, so I let it out. Then it tried to bite me, the fucker. I bet you did something stupid to get locked up, like punched a copper._

Over the past couple of months, Smith had gotten better at following Andrew’s rules. Not perfect, no one would ever always respect his boundaries without harsh reminders every now and again, but Smith was better than others. Because of this, Andrew looked for his eyes first during lunch on Saturday. Evered had visitation today and would be out of the room soon after they were released from the cafeteria. A blush bloomed on Smith’s cheeks when he locked eyes with Andrew, a small smile playing on his lips. He gave a slight nod to Andrew’s quirked brow, so Andrew turned back to his meal.

There was still about twenty minutes before the buzzer would sound, so Andrew turned his thoughts to the rabbit. It had taken over two weeks for him to reply, much to Andrew’s annoyance. But he had answered, and with more honesty than Andrew expected. While he couldn’t understand the itch to run, Andrew did resonate with the bone-deep feeling of exhaustion the other boy managed to portray in his words. Andrew also was tired of being nothing, but he had accepted he wouldn’t be anything else a long time ago.

The thought of the rabbit in California sent a little thrill down Andrew’s spine. He imagined for a moment what it would be like to meet him. Would he be as fiery in person as he was in writing? Would he still answer Andrew’s questions; trade truths with him? Would he run? Andrew pushed these thoughts away as useless. It wouldn’t happen, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. He may not find him as interesting in person. Not only that, knowing who was on the other side of the letters might make confessing his truths harder, if not impossible. The rabbit had been right when he said that doing it this way made it easier. Andrew could almost pretend he was talking to no one this way. Having a face to put to the words might ruin it all.

The buzzer sounded and Andrew got up, tossing his tray on the way out. He ignored Evered when they reached the room, opting to grab his letter to the rabbit instead. The trip to the mailroom was short, but by the time he got back, Evered was gone again. Smith should show up, but if he didn’t Andrew wasn’t going to look for him. Grabbing _The Metamorphosis,_ which so far had been oddly bizarre enough to hold his attention, Andrew settled on the dresser to read.

It didn’t take long for Smith, eager over puppy that he was, to show up in the doorway. He slipped inside the room, closing the door behind him. Andrew raised a brow at that but didn’t comment. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to tell him to do exactly that anyway.

Smith stopped in the middle of the room when Andrew raised his hand. Taking a moment to assess himself, Andrew looked Smith up and down slowly. He was in a good headspace today, and he was feeling firmly in his own skin. There was a low thrumming of arousal in his veins, and he wanted to act on it.

Backing Smith into the wall, Andrew motioned to his hands. Immediately, Smith put them against the wall, his breath hitching when Andrew grabbed his wrists, pushing him flush against the brick.

“You know, I never thought I’d be into this kinky shit,” Smith breathed, his eyes already blown with want.

“Do you not want to do this?”

“No! I mean, yes I do!” Smith backtracked quickly as Andrew pulled away. “I _really_ like this. Just unexpected,” he chuckled.

“Try not to let your mouth ruin it then. Yes?”

“ _Yes,_ ” and Andrew shut him up with a harsh kiss.

Smith was pliant under Andrew, submitting to his every move. He tasted of the cheap mint toothpaste they had there, his lips slightly chapped. Andrew allowed himself to enjoy the gasps and moans that Smith made when Andrew brushed his tongue against his, the slight shiver that rolled through the taller boy at the touch. Pulling back slightly, he nipped Smith’s lip, earning another low groan.

“You need to stay quiet. They’ll come looking if they hear you.”

Smith nodded frantically, fingers clenching into fists.

Moving back, Andrew began mouthing at his jaw and neck, biting down just over his pulse point. Smith’s hips jerked at that, his teeth digging into his lip to stop any noise from coming out. A quick glance down showed that Smith was hard.

Andrew squeezed his wrists once, “Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

Smith nodded, but Andrew waited for his breathless ‘ _yes_ ’ before he released one of Smith’s hands. Kissing him again, Andrew trailed his hand down his side, feeling tremors roll through his frame beneath his fingers. He could taste the salt of Smith’s skin, feel his heart beating wildly beneath his lips. Pausing at Smith’s waistband, Andrew traced it with a single finger, causing Smith to jerk.

“Do you want me to get you off?” Andrew asked, keeping his tone bored.

“Yes, yes, yes,” babbled Smith, his hips jerking again.

Andrew pushed his hips back again, keeping a few inches between them. “Stay still. Keep your hands to yourself,” he reminded him before dipping his hand under the elastic.

There was a muffled moan as Andrew wrapped his fingers around him, jerking him off with quick harsh strokes. By the way he was panting harshly in the space between their mouths, the flush growing over his body, and the small movements of his hips, Andrew didn't think he would last long. Smith's legs began to tremble, hand curling into a tight fist at his side. Swallowing Smith’s whimpers with a kiss, Andrew swiped his thumb over his head, giving his wrist a quick twist, and Smith was tumbling over the edge.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Smith’s hand coming up, so he quickly grabbed the fabric of his sleeve, keeping it away from himself. Smith was panting hard, his eyes hazy as he looked at Andrew. Wiping his hand clean on the other boy’s shirt, Andrew stepped back, cool air rushing between them.

He could feel his own arousal simmering, on edge from Smith’s aborted movements.

He was still staring at Andrew, the heaving of his chest gradually slowing. Swallowing, he made a motion, towards Andrew. “Do you want me to…?”

“No,” Andrew said flatly. “Get out.”

Huffing, Smith fixed his clothing and slipped back out the door. When he was sure he was gone, Andrew moved to the far corner where the toilet and sink sat. Taking a few deep breaths to center himself, Andrew slipped his fingers down his own pants, gripping himself tightly. He hated getting himself off, always fighting the feeling of being dirty and wrong that came over him afterwards. But he could tell by the warmth in his gut that this wasn't going away by itself. Finishing himself off in a few rough strokes, Andrew bit his lip to stay quiet, drawing blood. There was the brief moment of pleasure blocking out his senses, wiping his mind blissfully blank.

All too soon, the sick feeling started creeping down his spine. Breathing harshly through his nose, Andrew screwed his eyes shut tight, gripping the sink with white knuckles. _You’re alone,_ he told himself. _You’re fine. He said yes. You’re not wrong for wanting it._

Repeating this over and over, Andrew slowly regained control of himself. Letting out one last shuddering breath, Andrew washed his hands quickly, scrubbing until his skin was red and raw.

By the time Evered returned, Andrew was perched back on his dresser, book in hand, blank once more.

_Rabbit_

_I have no time for apologies. They’re useless._

_I’m not sure what’s more interesting, the fact that your uncle needs people to watch you, or that you think that equals imprisonment. If you do come to California, do me a favour and burn it to the ground. As soon as I age out I’m leaving this state behind. There’s nothing here worth staying for._

_I do not need to ask it now._

_-Doe_

_P.S. Copper? Are you fucking British? And yes I did. He caught me stealing, and I don’t like being touched. Also, I don’t believe you. Next time get a picture._


	10. Deals and Trades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the SECOND chapter I'm posting today, so make sure you read the other one if you haven't yet!

_Doe,_

_Okay first off, I’ve spent years stealing and was never once caught. Step up your game, Doe. Secondly, I’m British on my mum’s side, but I was born in the US. Never really stayed anywhere for too long. I moved to London with my uncle earlier this year (no one plays exy here, it’s awful). Have you ever heard of the Chameleon Effect? Dial that up to ten and it’s close to what happens with me._

_Apparently, my uncle has deemed me a ‘flight risk’ and has people watching me for ‘security purposes’. I wouldn’t say he’s wrong, but it’s very annoying._

_If I burn it down, you’ll need an escape plan._

_\- Hatford_

_P.S. Pictures are permanent. I can’t risk them._

He was back in Payton’s office, the sun beating down on him. Kicking his legs back and forth, Andrew stared at a point just over Payton’s shoulder, keeping his expression blank. Aiming a kick at the bottom of the desk, Andrew listened for the clinking of glass. It was faint, almost drowned out by the ring of the metal desk, but he caught it. The weight in his pocket felt lighter at the noise.

“Stop that,” Payton grumbled, flipping through Andrew’s file again.

Humming, Andrew complied. Watching the small tremors in Payton’s hands, he wondered what exactly he was looking for. He didn’t need to wait long to find out, Payton pulling out a visitation form.

Flipping it around, Andrew saw the names _Cassandra Spear, Richard Spear,_ and _Drake Spear_ printed across the top. Swallowing back the bile in his throat, Andrew looked back up at Payton.

“You’ve been doing well, so I think it’s time we look at your visitors again. You have your uncle coming soon, but your foster family has been asking to visit you. Drake will be home for a few weeks and would like to take the opportunity to see you.”

“No,” Andrew said, barely keeping his voice even, “I don’t want to see them.”

“Andrew let’s take advantage of your progress here. The medication is obviously helping you control your temper, so we should show your family how far you’ve come. There’s another exy game they can come watch and there’s the opportunity to have visitation after. It’ll be good for you.”

“They’re not my family,” Andrew said, thinking for anything to stop this, “and Luther is coming soon. He’s working on getting me an early release to take me to South Carolina.” None of this was a lie, but Andrew didn’t need to tell Payton he had no intention of getting out early or moving.

Payton tapped his fingers across the visitation name, blocking and revealing the names over and over again.

“You think he’d still want you after the stunt you pulled? Cutting your call off and having a temper tantrum?”

Swallowing thickly, Andrew kept his face impassive, reining in his anger. “You said it yourself. The drugs are working.”

A slow smile crept over Payton’s face at that. He liked hearing how much control he had; Andrew could see how much he enjoyed it. Always needing to be right, to have people submit to him. It made Andrew’s skin crawl.

“Glad to hear you acknowledge it too. So, you’re ready to meet your uncle then? Accept his help?”

Andrew forced himself to nod, teeth aching from how hard he was clenching his jaw. He just needed to get through this session. Just a little longer. Taking deep breaths, he watched as Payton took the visitation form back, replacing it with another, _Luther Hemmick_ the only name on this one. There was a date at the bottom, for next weekend.

“I took the privilege of approving this one for you,” Payton said, missing Andrew’s sharp intake of breath. “Thought I would keep it as a surprise for your good behaviour, but I need your signature for the file.”

Willing his hands not to shake with anger, Andrew accepted the pen from Payton’s hand, scrawling his name at the bottom. Andrew was supposed to be allowed to schedule his own visitations, one of the few things he had some control over in here. For Payton to ignore that felt like a heavy weight over Andrew, a dark presence over his head.

“Perfect! Now, let’s talk about exy. Orav said you’re still not putting in much effort. That’s disappointing, especially when he tells me you are very skilled at the game. Don’t forget Andrew, Officer Higgins put in a good word for you so you could be on the team.”

“My head feels fuzzy,” Andrew mumbled, keeping his gaze on the file still on the desk. If he looked at Payton he would lose his control.

“That’s probably the medication. It can take some time getting used to it.” Right, because Payton wasn’t giving him drugs to make him into a practical zombie. Spencer had lost almost all coordination lately, stumbling into the other boys and slurring his words. So far, none of the staff had done anything about it. Andrew wasn’t sure they had even noticed.

Payton went on about all the benefits of medication, how Andrew just needed to stick with it. Eventually, Payton pulled out his little questionnaire.

“Alright, can I just put ‘no’ for all of these?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Well,” Payton pulled himself out of his chair, opening the door for Andrew, the guard waiting outside stepping forward, “keep up the good work Andrew.”

Making sure to stumble slightly when he stood, Andrew ambled toward the door, stilling his twitching fingers. The door of the office closed behind them, the guard walking beside Andrew as they made their way down the hall. When they reached the corner, Andrew bumped his shoulder into it, stumbling into the guard. The contact made his skin burn, but he used the motion to slip the small bottle he had grabbed from his stash out of his pocket, sending it clattering onto the ground.

Immediately, the guard stilled, his hand still gripping Andrew’s shoulder to steady him. The man’s eyes locked onto the bottle of whiskey, the glass glinting in the artificial light.

“Doe,” he growled, and Andrew had to suppress a flinch at an angry man holding onto him, “the hell is that?”

Andrew drew his brows together, feigning confusion. “Payton gives me some when I’m good,” he slurred, blinking up at the man, “keeps ‘em in his desk for me.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” the man said, grabbing his radio. There was a small beep before he spoke again, “Yeah, I need someone over in Hall B. Got a kid here and I need to do a contraband check.”

Andrew swayed again, his head actually beginning to become fuzzy with the continued contact, causing the guard to swear and grab onto both of his shoulders. “You good, Doe?”

“Let me sit down,” Andrew could his feel chest tightening, and he needed the man to let him go.

Thankfully, he brought Andrew to the wall and let him slide to the floor, giving him a warning look before releasing him and taking a step back. Focusing on his breathing, Andrew listened for the sound of boots hitting the linoleum flooring. It wasn’t long until two more guards rounded the corner, and Andrew felt some tension leave his shoulders. There were few things he disliked more than being alone with men in a position of authority over him.

They spotted the bottle on the floor quickly, their gaze snapping from it to Andrew. One made to grab him again, but the first guard put a hand out to stop him, “Kid said Payton gave it to him.”

The guard on the left snorted, “We believe him?”

The first guard shrugged, “Said he kept them in his desk. Sounds like he was using them as a reward. I’ll watch Doe if you go look.”

The two looked more annoyed than concerned but moved to comply anyways. Andrew checked the name of the guard who stayed with him, _Jones._ He might just find this one tolerable. Jones kept enough space between them that allowed Andrew to breathe, keeping one eye on him and one for the return of the two guards.

They heard them before they saw them, Payton yelling and cursing as he was dragged toward them. When he saw Andrew, he turned a deep red and tried to wrench his arms from the guards’ hold.

“ _You,_ ” he snarled, eyes flashing, “I try to help you and you do _this_?” He looks wildly between the guards, “You don’t believe him, do you? He’s a fucking delinquent!”

One guard adjusted his hold on Payton’s arm, causing a squeak to escape the man. Ignoring the vitriol still falling from Payton’s mouth, he looked at Jones, “We found a stash of bottles in the desk as you said. Good catch. We’ll take him to Main and have him dealt with there. You good here?”

Jones nodded, swiping the bottle off the floor and pocketing it. “Yeah, I’ll bring this by after I get Doe back to his room. You calling it in, or should I?”

“I got it. Still gotta- will you _shut up_?” He snapped, yanking Payton, causing him to stumble. He had been staring at Andrew and cursing him the entire time. “Jesus, he’s just a kid!”

They didn’t wait for Payton to regain his balance, practically dragging him away. With Jones’ back on Andrew, and the other guards focused on the struggling man between them, Andrew met Payton’s gaze. Andrew let a slow smile creep across his face, and he gave the asshole a two-fingered salute.

Good riddance.

Huffing, Jones turned back to him, and Andrew schooled his face into a blank mask once again. “Let’s get you back. You’ll have to answer some questions, but it sounds like it’s pretty open and shut. I’ll tell ‘em you cooperated so you won’t get punished. Sound good?”

Andrew didn’t really care, but he nodded anyway.

“You’re room will get tossed too, part of the protocol. We’ll also need to get you a new therapist, and they’ll need to review your file and all of the shit Payton wrote down and approved.”

Well, Andrew could kiss the rest of his alcohol and cigarettes goodbye, but it was worth it.

“Just be careful with the letters under my pillow.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

~~~

Just as Andrew thought, they found the rest of the bottles and a few of the cigarettes. He had more stashed in the yard, so it wasn’t the end of the world, but still irksome. His letters were placed back on top of his pillow, and it looked like they had been handled carefully. Interestingly enough, they found packs of soup with Evered’s clothing. Why he would waste resources on _soup,_ Andrew couldn’t be sure. Jones asked Andrew some questions about Payton, and he made sure to feign confusion due to the medication to avoid giving details.

~~~

Jones found him the next day, calling him over during rec time. A twinge of anxiety pinged in Andrew’s chest, but he went over to the man anyway.

“Hey, Doe. So, they got you a new therapist, Dr. Greer. They want you to meet with him today, but it means your rec time is going to be cut short.”

Andrew shrugged. Rec time didn’t mean much to him.

Following Jones down back toward the offices, they passed Payton’s and went to one near the end of the hall. Jones knocked before opening the door, gesturing Andrew inside.

This office was just as plain as Payton’s with the exception of two photo frames on the desk. One featured the man sitting behind the desk with what Andrew assumed was his wife, and the other two women in white dresses. The man himself, Greer, was barrel-chested and bald, his face stern and his eyes sharp. There was a scar that curved from his jaw and disappeared down under the collar of his sweater.

Andrew’s file was in his hand, and Greer looked up over his reading glasses as Andrew took his seat on the metal stool across from him.

“Andrew Doe?”

Andrew nodded, wondering if this man was going to push for verbal answers as well.

Surprisingly, Greer just nodded, flipping through a few pages. “Alright, we need to do some baseline stuff before we can really get into anything. You good with that?”

Andrew shrugged.

“I’m taking that as a yes. I see Payton had you on some mood-stabilizers. Are they working for you?”

Andrew took a chance and shook his head.

Greer nodded like he expected this. “I thought so. They’re a suppressor, so you probably feel a little foggy, yeah?”

Andrew nodded.

“You’ll probably feel a bit of withdrawal when we take you off, but you weren’t on them for too long so you shouldn’t need to be in the infirmary for it. You’ll just feel sick for a while, but hopefully nothing too bad. After your body chemistry resets we’ll look at medications again. Sound good?”

Andrew was surprised how good it sounded. He nodded again. He should have gotten rid of Payton a lot earlier.

Greer flipped a few more pages. “I see you have a Luther Hemmick coming next weekend. Listed as your uncle? How do you feel about that?”

Andrew shrugged. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to cause too much trouble after getting Payton fired either.

“We’ll table that for now. I also see you took the Spears off your visitors' list. Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to see them.”

“Any particular reason?”

“They’re not family.”

“They don’t need to be family to visit you. Also, it looks like they were looking at adopting you, so I’d say they’re pretty damn close to family.”

Andrew took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “I don’t want to see them.”

Greer shrugged, “We can talk more about that later. What about exy? How’s that going?”

And so it went, Greer, asking him questions, marking most topics down to discuss later. He seemed indifferent about most things but didn’t get angry when Andrew refused to answer verbally.

After about thirty minutes, he sat back, tapping his finger against his desk. “Okay, the last thing is the most difficult. I have a hard time believing you had zero problematic thoughts since you were brought in. Payton should have picked up on that, but we’re going to have to try and salvage what we can.” He paused here, giving Andrew a carefully blank look. “You’ll need to roll up your sleeves for me.”

It felt like ice water running down his back. “Why.”

“I need to check to see if you’ve caused any more harm to yourself.”

“No.”

Greer’s finger kept tapping. “I know you don’t want to, Doe. Believe it or not, I am here to help you, and this is one of the ways I can do that. I won’t check every session, only if I think I need to, but this is our first one and I need to see what I’m working with. There’s no judgement in this room.”

“There’s always judgement,” Andrew said, crossing his arms.

Greer shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not. Won’t know unless you give it a shot. I’ve got no appointments today, so I can sit here for as long as you need until you show me.”

Andrew waited five minutes in silence, staring back at the man across the desk. Greer kept tapping his finger, holding Andrew’s gaze.

An idea popped in Andrew’s head. It would be a good way to see what kind of man Greer was, and also help him feel like he had an ounce of control still.

“I’ll trade you,” he said, keeping his arms tightly crossed against his chest.

Greer quirked a brow, “Trade me, huh? What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll show you and you give me a favour.”

“Is this favour something I can actually give you? I’m not breaking any laws or rules for you.”

Andrew didn’t think he would, but it was good to hear anyway. “No, nothing like that. Just a favour for me to use when I need it.”

Greer looked at him considering, his lips slightly pursed. Eventually, he nodded, “Alright. You show me your arms, no complaining, and I’ll give you a favour. But I reserve the right to tell you no if it’s something I can’t give you. Deal?”

Taking a slow breath in, Andrew nodded. “Deal.”

Carefully, Andrew rolled up his sleeves, showing Greer his arms. Most of the recent cuts had healed, but one had gotten infected, leaving it red and oozing. Greer’s sharp eyes looked over them before motioning to Andrew that he could roll his sleeves down again.

“Stop by the infirmary before you go back to your room. I’ll give you a note so you can get some antibiotics and bandages.” Greer scrawled onto his pad before handing it over to Andrew. Turning back to his file one last time, he paused before closing it. “You signed up for Letter Mates? How’s that going for you?”

“Fine,” Andrew said, scratching his arm, “they paired me with an exy junkie. I hate it.”

“I can take you out of it if you want.”

“No,” Andrew said, “I have a deal with him.”

Greer actually chuckled at that, a knowing gleam in his eye. “Okay then. I’ll see you next time. Don’t forget to get that cut checked.”

Waving the note at the man, Andrew left the office, for the first time feeling better leaving than he did walking in.

_Rabbit_

_Ever think that I wanted to get caught?_

_Maybe I don’t want to escape. Maybe I want to see if I’ll burn with it._

_\- Doe_

_P.S. Stop running. You can only have so many issues. If you want, I’ll trade you exy for photos._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are satisfied with how Payton left. I know I wanted him to suffer a bit more, but I don't think Andrew could have gotten away with stabbing the guy. Also, I had to keep reminding myself they don't use the term 'mickey' in the US and I had to go back and edit to make sure I didn't use it, haha.  
> Disclosure: I am not anti-medication. I strongly believe you need to find something that works for you, and if that includes medication, then it includes medication. I'm just strongly against giving drugs to people against their will, ESPECIALLY when it's not discussed in depth beforehand.
> 
> I love reading all of your comments and I do my best to answer all of them!  
> Thank you guys so much for reading!


	11. Forced Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, okay. I just couldn't stop.
> 
> Warnings: This part is the chat with Luther. So. Andrew's going to bring up parts with Drake and obviously everything that that entails.

_Doe,_

_I don’t understand you. Do you want to die? I’ve spent so long trying to survive that the thought of actively trying to kill myself makes me sick._

_I have a question, but I don’t want it to count in our game, so feel free not to answer. Where would you go? If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you choose? I’ve never travelled for pleasure before, so I want to know what someone would do if they could._

_Will you tell me about your practices and games then? I should tell you no, I can feel my mother yelling at me for even considering it, but I think you have a deal._

_My uncle went on a 45 minute rant on the proper way to clean a bathroom today. All I asked him was where he kept the bleach. Apparently, unless I’m dealing with ‘big messes’ I need to use bathroom cleaner. I’m not sure what the difference is. I wasn’t really paying attention._

_No raccoon in the trap today, sorry. I found you a seagull instead._

_\- Hatford_

_P.S. Can you stop calling me rabbit?_

Reading the letter, Andrew almost found himself wanting to smile at the end. Almost. He thought the rabbit would accept the deal, with his constant talks of exy, but he had thought he would have needed to push a bit more. But when Andrew had opened the letter, a polaroid featuring a blurry seagull in the parking lot of a fast-food chain, fluttered out with it. The back even had a short message in familiar messy lines: _what do you think he’s buying?_

This letter felt a lot more open to Andrew as if the rabbit was finally letting his guard down. He wanted to keep pushing, to see just how far he could go, see what kind of secrets could be shared, but he didn’t want to lose him. There was a balancing act here, and Andrew felt like he was precariously close to falling. It was a sickening rush that was almost addictive. Like being on the roof, a tingling in his feet and a swoop in his gut.

He put off answering just yet, knowing he was going to be collected for visitation soon. It had been delayed because of a mess created during lunch, Zac pushing Spencer into a group of boys, sending pasta everywhere. It had almost started another riot, but they had posted more guards around since the last one a few weeks ago. It had been shut down before it had even started.

He currently trying not to think about how Luther Hemmick was in the building somewhere, waiting to meet Andrew.

Evered was sulking on his bed, kicking the frame repeatedly. Amused, Andrew realized he had been in the group that had lost their meals.

“Stop kicking the bed.”

“I’m hungry,” Evered grumbled.

“What, you don’t have more soup stashed away somewhere?”

The glower Evered sent him was met with a blank stare. Evered was too cowardly to be a threat to Andrew, but it was amusing to see him try.

“No you asshole. They took it all because _you_ got our room tossed.”

Andrew threw a crumpled ball of paper at him, “It’s not my fault you suck at hiding shit.”

“Fuck off,” Evered snapped, turning his back on Andrew.

He was debating throwing another paper ball at his head to see what the other boy would do when there was a knock on the door. It was Jones again; he had seemed to be following Andrew everywhere nowadays.

“Doe, time for visitation.”

“Oh goody, watch me jump for joy.”

Jones snorted, “Yeah, you look excited. Come on, I still gotta get you geared up.”

Of all the guards here, Andrew had decided he liked Jones the best. He was quick and efficient when he had to touch Andrew and gave him space to walk when he escorted him places. He said, ‘gear up’ because he thought it sounded better than ‘put cuffs on you’, but Andrew didn’t care for the effort. It all meant the same thing.

Holding his arms out, he kept his gaze forward as Jones quickly checked for contraband before locking the metal around Andrew’s waist and wrists. Giving him a once-over, Jones nodded and started leading him down the hall.

“Who are you seeing today?”

“Uncle, apparently.”

“I hate my uncle,” Jones said absently, checking an empty classroom as they walked.

Andrew shrugged, the metal rattling at the movement, “Did you draw the short straw to walk me?”

Jones’s grin was fast and crooked, “Nah, I volunteered. You’re easy to deal with. Quiet, well-mannered, don’t cause me any trouble.”

“I’m insulted. I have never been described as well-mannered in my life.”

The deep belly laugh from Jones startled Andrew, “No? Maybe you’re just biding your time with me then. Waiting until I’m relaxed and then you'll pull a daring escape, yeah?”

“You got me.”

“Yeah?” Jones smiled again, scratching at his beard, “what’s your escape route?”

Raising a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, Andrew side-eyed the man beside him, “If I told you, you’d ruin all my hard planning.”

“You got me,” Jones echoed, stopping by the cafeteria doors before looking over Andrew one more time. “Excited?”

Andrew threw him some jazz-hands, the chains making the noise for him. Shaking his head, Jones opened up the doors, pointing Andrew towards the back. Upon entering, Andrew spotted who he figured was Luther Hemmick. He had a stern face framed by a greying beard, and his eyes widened when he spotted Andrew. He stood as Andrew approached, looking him up and down with a critical eye. When he reached the table, Luther stuck his hand out for Andrew to shake. Andrew lifted his hands and rattled his chains in an answer.

Luther Hemmick cleared his throat, “Yes, they told me there were some extra precautions in your case. I’m your Uncle Luther, it’s good to finally meet you, Andrew.” He found his seat again, gesturing for Andrew to do the same. Andrew debating standing out of spite but ultimately decided against it.

They stared at each other for a moment, Luther’s hard eyes searching Andrew’s blank face.

“My, you really are identical. You look just like Aaron.”

Andrew bit back the retort that Aaron looked just like him. Opening his mouth around this man almost felt like surrender.

Luther pulled a stack of papers on the table closer to him, flipping a photo over for Andrew to see. In it, a clone of Andrew, sullen and scowling, stared at the camera next to an older boy with dark skin and curly hair who was wearing a strained smile and empty eyes.

“This is Aaron,” Luther said, pointing to Andrew’s twin, “and this is my son Nicholas, your cousin. I mentioned on our phone call that we had some issues with him a while ago, but he has been reformed since then. We sent him to Germany as a reward for finding God again. You can meet him when he’s back. I’m sorry Aaron couldn’t be here today, but we decided as a family that it would be best to ease you into things. We know how overwhelming this must be for you.”

Andrew didn’t think they decided anything as a family. Luther was clearly the authority figure, and he was pulling the strings. Andrew was more curious at the expressions on the boys’ faces in the photo. For someone trying to portray a big happy family, he didn’t choose a very good photo. Andrew wondered if his twin ever smiled. In the picture his eyes had dark circles under them, his hair a little longer than Andrew’s but still the same pale blond. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, even though it looked to be summer in the photo and his cousin was in a brightly coloured tank-top.

“We’ll schedule another meeting for next month,” Luther was saying, “Aaron will come then. He has a break in his school schedule, so it works out well. We’ll miss the family exy games the facility has scheduled, but that’s alright. You boys can still talk and get to know each other.”

“I don’t want him here.”

Luther narrowed his eyes, “Andrew, the Lord has brought us together again. You need to accept His gift and offer your forgiveness to past mistakes.”

“Don’t pretend that nothing done was a mistake. Aaron was fine without me before. Don’t bring him here.”

Andrew couldn’t have Aaron here. He wouldn’t allow it. It was too close to Drake. Aaron needed to be _safe._

Luther shook his head, shuffling his papers around. “Stop being childish. We are your family, and we need to be reunited. I’ve already started the paperwork for your mother to adopt you and for you to get an early release. It would help things along if you behaved yourself and applied as well. There is only so much I can do on my end.”

Andrew’s hands were shaking. No one ever _listened._ What Andrew wanted never mattered, no matter how many times he said it.

He was about to open his mouth to tell Luther where exactly he could shove his papers when the man spoke again.

“I spoke to your last foster family, the Spears. Lovely people. Cassandra had good things to say about you, even after everything.” He frowned at Andrew, looking down his nose at him, “She also said you took her off visitation. I told her I would speak to you. Her son mentioned us all meeting together, to help your transition.”

Andrew was going to throw up.

“ _No,_ ” he slammed his hands on the table, drawing the attention of a few guards. Luther just waved them off, unconcerned with Andrew’s rising anger. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not? They are good people. I told them about the adoption, and they were disappointed but supportive. Cassandra mentioned she would file for another foster after everything went through. She wanted to wait to make sure you had your family before she did anything.”

“You can’t let any more kids into her house,” the words were out of Andrew’s mouth before his brain could catch up. “Promise me you’ll get them taken out of the system.”

He couldn’t let Aaron anywhere near Drake. He had to protect him. He wouldn’t let everything be for nothing.

Luther looked unimpressed. “Why would I do that?”

Swallowing, Andrew cast a quick look around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Promise me first. You won’t let her foster any more kids.”

“Fine.”

Andrew would have to believe him. He had never spoken a word about what had happened to him, but he had to tell Luther. When he heard what kind of person he was potentially letting his nephew meet, he would have to keep Aaron away.

“Aaron can’t be here. He can’t be anywhere near Drake Spear,” Andrew said. He could feel his mind trying to disassociate, but he pushed through it, determined to get the words out. “The man’s a predator. He sexually assaulted me for years in that house.”

Luther was quiet for a moment, studying Andrew’s face. For a moment, a brief, hopeful moment, Andrew was positive that he would get it. That he would understand.

But then he shook his head, disappointment clouding his face. “You must have misunderstood. You just don’t understand proper brotherly love because of your upbringing. Drake is a fine young man, and it’s disrespectful for you to spread lies about a simple misunderstanding.”

Andrew was cold all over. “A misunderstanding.” He could hear his voice say the words, but he couldn’t feel his mouth moving to make them.

There was a ringing in his ears and his vision was turning gray at the edges. He felt like he was out of his body, watching Luther speak, but he couldn’t understand the words.

The floor beneath him felt too far away, replaced by stained bedsheets.

Andrew could feel teeth digging into his shoulder, sweat and spit dripping onto his face. He could feel his body breaking, being carved out from the inside. He could hear skin hitting skin, Drake’s harsh breathing in his ear, whispers telling him how good he looked when he cried. He could taste the salt of his tears and the iron of his blood as he bit his lip to stay quiet.

Something inside of Andrew broke, shrivelling up and disappearing into the void that had taken over his body. He hadn’t realized before now how much he needed to tell someone. To be heard and believed. Of all of the secrets Andrew kept close, he had wanted to ease the burden, just a little. Now, it felt ten times heavier. Of course, he wouldn’t be believed.

Why did he ever expect anything different.

He blinked, and Luther was packing his things away, saying _see you next month,_ and Jones was coming over to bring Andrew back to his room.

He was searched for contraband, the metal on his body too warm, his mind warping it into large hands.

Back in his room, Andrew had just enough mind to realize Evered was gone before he emptied his stomach into the toilet.

It took him days to breach the surface again. And by then, he was only left with anger.

He had just wanted to be heard.

_Rabbit,_

_I’m not trying to die I just find life boring. I wouldn’t judge other people’s coping if I were you. You’re not a pillar of mental health yourself. Who’s after you? I can guess if you’d like, I have a few ideas, but I would like it better if you told me. What is a ‘big mess’ for your family? Does it have anything to do with you running for survival? I don’t think I’d like your mother._

_Tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine._

_I’ll even start._

_I met my uncle today. He’s trying to get me released so I can go ‘live with my family’ because clearly they miss me. That’s why my ‘mother’ has yet to contact me. What do you think, is it guilt? Or does she wish I stayed forgotten? Doesn’t really matter though, does it? He wants to bring my twin to see me and won’t take no for an answer. Says he’ll be back next month. So, I guess I’ll finally meet my brother._

_I don’t trust the man. I told him a secret, and he threw it back in my face. Now I have another word to hate. He talks about God and forgiveness like they mean something. Mentioned how his son was cured by faith. My money’s on my cousin being gay, which does not bode well for me. I think I might end up killing the man._

_Oh look, that’s more than one secret shared. Don’t let me down Rabbit._

_I have no idea where I would go, I’ve never thought about it. Apparently my cousin is in Germany right now. Any suggestions?_

_And fuck you. Do you know how common seagulls are? I can look out the window and see one anytime I want._

_A striker shot the ball at my face in practice today. I sent it back to his feet and he tripped to avoid it. Fell flat on his face and busted his lip. Got to sit out for the rest of it._

_\- Doe_

_P.S. Give me your name then._


	12. Skirting the Edges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic language in this part.

_Doe,_

_You could die if I tell you who’s after me. That’s not a joke or an exaggeration, the people I’ve been running from wouldn’t think twice about killing you. I don’t want that to happen to you. You’re going to ask anyway though, aren’t you? If you do, don’t ask me for specifics, I’ll have to lie to you, and I promised you I wouldn’t._

_Have you ever killed anyone before? It’s not as easy as you think. You’ll need a place to hide the body and lots of bleach._

_I already told you I haven’t travelled for pleasure. I did enjoy Germany until I got shot. Refused to take my vest off for a month after that._

_My mum always used my middle name while we were running. It was what I used when I played exy as I kid. Something that’s mine, and not my father’s. I was named after him, you know. It still makes me sick just thinking about it. I can’t even look at my reflection because I look just like him. My mother always hated that about me. Made sure my hair was always dyed and that I had coloured contacts. She said it was so we wouldn’t be caught, but she could never look at me when my contacts were out. She’d yank on my hair if she could see my roots._

_I’ve had so many names over the years, Doe. I could give you any of them and they would all be lies. This one might be my only constant. The only real truth I can give you._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. Look at what I found today. I had to ask my uncle what they were called. Smews. They look far too pretentious to have a name that sounds like a sneeze, don’t you think?_

Abram.

Andrew finally had a name, and this one felt _real._ He found himself tracing a finger over the name repeatedly, mouthing it to himself. He knew already that he was going to give Abram something for this piece of honesty; something that would make himself more real in the other boy's mind. It wasn’t an issue of what he would give, but it was concerning how ready Andrew was to let Abram have another piece of him.

Abram had peppered in truths in his letter: the bleach, the issues with his parents, getting _shot._ But he had skimmed the surface, avoiding so much. And Andrew wanted to _know._ He found himself almost desperate for information on Abram. It was a constant buzz in the back of his brain, tugging at his thoughts wherever he went. Everything had started reminding Andrew of Abram, and he hated it.

He needed to know the boy so he could stop being so damn interested in him. Abram was like a thorn bush. Andrew just kept getting more tangled the more he fought to get out. The boy had gotten under Andrew’s skin, and he had no idea when it had started to become a problem. Andrew wanted to know Abram, and even more horrifying, he wanted Abram to know him.

He would deal with that later though, right now he had to see what the hell a _smew_ was.

He had to go back into the envelope to get his photo. It featured a couple of white birds with black markings and a head crest and a single darker feathered bird with a shock of red on its head. Begrudgingly, Andrew had to agree that they did look too fancy for their name. On the back of the polaroid, the word _gesundheit_ was written.

A small huff of laughter escaped Andrew’s lips, Evered’s head snapping up at the sound, eyes wide.

He blinked owlishly for a moment before he said, “Dude, did you just _laugh_?”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“No,” Evered said, “that was _definitely_ a laugh. What’s so funny?”

“A smew,” Andrew said.

“Bless you,” Evered said.

And oh, Abram would find this funny. Maybe he should tell him about this, see what he would say. For a brief second, Andrew wondered what Abram’s laugh sounded like. Scowling when he realized he was thinking about Abram _again,_ Andrew put the photo and letter back in the envelope and carefully placed them with the others. Evered watched him curiously the entire time, chewing on his bottom lip.

He took a breath in, “So,” he started, eyeing the distance between them, “who keeps writing you?”

“No one,” Andrew answered, and he could almost pretend it was true.

~~~

Smith’s harsh breaths fanned across Andrew’s mouth, warming the air between them. This time, he kept his hands to himself as he came down, staring at Andrew with lidded eyes. They were back behind the shed, escaping the sun and trading hard kisses. Andrew used Smith’s shirt to clean off his hand, finding some satisfaction in the other boy’s grimace.

“That was great,” Smith breathed, tucking himself back into his pants, “thanks.”

Andrew grunted, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. When Smith didn’t leave immediately, Andrew cast a glare in his direction. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now?” He asked.

Smith’s lips quirked into a sly grin, “I could return the favour.”

He got his answer by Andrew blowing smoke into his face. Coughing, Smith waved a hand in front of himself, muttering ‘ _asshole_ ’ under his breath.

Andrew was in the middle of another drag, annoyed that Smith couldn’t take a hint when he caught movement in his peripheral. Zac and a few other boys who had started following him rounded the corner, a sick glint in their eyes.

Tension rolled through Andrew’s shoulders, his body twisting to better face the three newcomers.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zac’s smile was all teeth, “a couple of fags hiding away.”

“Don’t say that word,” Andrew snarled, his lip beginning to curl, “I don’t like it.”

Zac scoffed, “I don’t give a fuck what you like, Doe. I don’t take orders from people like _you._ ”

Andrew’s fingers tightened around his cigarette, almost snapping it in half. From the corner of his eye, Andrew could see Smith shrinking in on himself. The lack of spine Smith showed was not Andrew’s concern, however. If he wanted to roll over and let a few arrogant pricks beat him down, Andrew wasn’t about to stop him.

But he wasn’t going to let them take shots at him. He had fought too hard for every tiny scrap of progress he had made since getting away from Drake, and would not be shamed for it. The warning Andrew had given Zac had obviously not penetrated that thick skull; he would have to give him a reminder.

“I gotta ask,” Zac had his arms crossed, his gaze confident, “which one of you is the bitch?”

Fists curled at his sides, Andrew was about to unleash all of the anger that had been building inside of him for the past few weeks, to put Zac back in his place, when a barking order interrupted their little group.

“Hey! You’re not allowed to be back there, move back into the yard!” There was a guard standing a good ten feet away, glaring in their direction.

Zac cast one more look towards Andrew, lip curled in a sneer. “This isn’t over. I still owe you one.”

“I’m shaking,” Andrew said, raising a steady hand to show Zac his finger.

A glob of spit was sent his way in retaliation, landing by his feet. The beast inside Andrew sparked and roared, hungry to make someone _hurt._ Keeping his face bored, Andrew pushed past the other boys, slamming his shoulder into Zac as he passed, forcing him to stumble back a step. Vaguely, he was aware of Smith scrambling to follow behind him.

Andrew was making his way to head back inside when Smith reached out to stop him. Andrew knocked the offending hand away from him, glaring at the taller boy.

“What.”

“Do you think he’ll come after us?”

“A homophobic asshole like him? First chance he gets he’ll be trying to pull something.”

Smith’s swallow was audible. “You’ll protect me though, right?”

“Why would I do that?” The heat from the sun was starting to make him uncomfortably warm and Andrew just wanted to get inside.

“Well,” Smith blinked at him, “because we’re together?”

Andrew didn’t bother holding back his scoff. “We,” he said, motioning between them, “are not anything. Sometimes we kiss, and sometimes I get you off. I told you before, this does not make us friends. I don’t give a shit about you. I told you that you were merely convenient and accessible. It is not my fault you cannot listen.”

As if Andrew could ever be _together_ with someone. The very idea was laughable.

“But-“

“No,” Andrew cut off Smith before he could start, and promptly turned around and walked away.

Ignoring Smith’s enraged name-calling behind him, Andrew escaped into the cool air of the rec room, mind already turning on ways to deal with his newest problem.

_Abram_

_Tell me. I can look after myself._

_I think I may hurt your mother if we ever met._

_\- Andrew_

_P.S. In my last game, my coach told me I was wasting my potential and that I needed to try harder if I wanted to get anywhere. I don’t like being told what to do, so I refused to stop a single goal until he pulled me._


	13. Hypotheticals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, just because.

_Andrew,_

_Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

_My father is a cruel man with too much power and a fascination for knives and torture. I have scars from him and his inner circle to show it. A few years ago my mother stole his money, took me, and ran. We travelled to Europe first to stay with her family to get new identities, but we never stayed anywhere for long. My father’s people hunted us down wherever we went. He lost face when we ran, and he wanted us to pay._

_He caught us in Seattle last year. I didn’t know it was too late for mum until we reached a beach in California. I burned her body with the car and buried her bones in the sand. After, I called my uncle to come and get me. I’ve been in London ever since._

_My secrets could kill you, so keep them safe._

_I forgot to ask last time, but what words do you hate? I wasn’t aware you could hate the English language._

_I can’t believe you’re so spiteful. Do you know how jealous of you I am? You get to play exy and you’re just throwing it away._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. Thank you for the name, Andrew. Here’s your picture._

“How are you doing lately?” Greer asked, peering over his glasses at Andrew.

Andrew shrugged, squinting his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the single window. The headache he had woken up with still pounded behind his eyes, turning everything a bit blurry. Reality felt overlayed with memories today, things too close to the surface.

“Are you alright Andrew? You seem quiet.”

“I’m always quiet,” Andrew mumbled, keeping his eyes barely slitted open. Just blinking felt like a tremendous effort today. It felt as if each muscle had been pulled and stretched, making his body foreign and strange.

Greer pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Different kind of quiet,” he said. “Are you in pain?”

Andrew managed a tight nod.

“Where?”

“Head.”

“Is it because of the withdrawal?”

Andrew gave a single-shouldered shrug because he wasn’t going to let Greer know he couldn’t be experiencing withdrawal from something he had never taken. Spencer though, Spencer had become shaky and pale, a shivering sweaty mess of a boy. It made Andrew wonder just what kind of drugs Payton had been trying to give him.

“I’ll tell the infirmary to give you some pain killers,” Greer said, jotting it down on his little notepad. Andrew didn’t have the energy to say anything. Pain killers wouldn’t do much for him today, not when it was because his brain was in overdrive.

Removing his glasses completely, Greer studied Andrew with a critical eye. The scrutiny would make most people uncomfortable, but Andrew just stared back, impassive. Overall, he didn’t mind Greer. It would have been preferable to not be required to see a therapist at all, but this one was far better than Payton. But he still tried to get Andrew to talk, to engage with him. He still talked about healing as if Andrew was a broken thing. Andrew didn’t mind the man, but he didn’t like him either.

“Tell me something good that’s happened to you recently, Andrew.”

Something good? Good things didn’t happen to Andrew. They were dangled in front of him only to be ripped away when it would hurt the most. Nothing good ever stayed for Andrew. He had the scars to prove it.

He was about to say this, or say nothing at all just to be difficult when he thought of the way his name looked when Abram wrote it. More legible than anything else, as if he was being careful to get it right. As if he was taking care of the name Andrew had given him. _Thank you for the name, Andrew._ As if it _meant_ something.

Andrew thought of secrets hard fought and won. Of a mysterious boy slowly showing Andrew everything he kept close, and who matched Andrew’s truths without flinching. Andrew thought of the way he could finally ease the weight of himself by sharing pieces with Abram. How it felt to be heard.

He thought of a boy who was a rabbit, a runner and a liar, but who kept writing to Andrew and who told him the truth.

Maybe Andrew had built it all up in his head, and Abram was nothing like what Andrew thought. Maybe he had been lying from the start, amusing himself by writing to a boy who was caged. Andrew didn’t think so, but he felt the burn to know. To see if Abram was even a fraction of who he seemed to be.

He thought of the picture he had gotten yesterday. The sunlight turning the air gold, the mist making everything slightly hazy. Of the long shadow of a boy stretching out across an empty road. Of the message ' _Catch me if you can_ ' written on the back.

Andrew looked up at Greer and found himself grasping onto the first clear thought he had had all day. “Hypothetically,” he started slowly, “if I wanted to use my favour to get someone who wasn’t family into the family exy games and visitation, could you do that?”

A slow smile spread across Greer’s face, “Hypothetically, that would be something I could make happen.”

_Abram,_

_What use would I have in sharing your secrets? They lose value when they’re passed around. If you share my secrets, I’ll kill you myself._

_What happened to your father then? You’re not running anymore, so where is he?_

_You hate your birth name, so you shouldn’t judge me for having my own grudge against words. There’s a reason why I don’t like them, and I don’t like thinking about it._

_The strikers were doing a piss-poor job today. Coach said he would buy the next person who scored a Costco chocolate muffin. We had an argument after because he didn’t specify that a striker had to score, so I thought my goal should be valid. It’s not my fault the other goalie is so bad he can’t stop a shot from across the court._

_When is your uncle coming to California? Hypothetically, if I could get you in to watch one of our exy games, would you come?_

_\- Andrew_

_P.S. Don’t be stupid. It’s just a name._


	14. Frozen State

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and a panic attack/shut down in this.

_Andrew,_

_For the moment, he’s in prison. The FBI managed to pin some charges on him because of his taxes or something. My uncle says they can’t find anything concrete to get him for his other crimes. I don’t doubt you can take a guess on what those might be._

_My uncle was talking about me testifying. If we can get him moved to a maximum-security prison, apparently my uncle can get to him. My father practically owns where he is now, so he’s untouchable. But testifying would mean facing him again, and I don’t know if I can do that without falling apart. I was told my uncle’s connections can keep me safe, but I’ve spent so long not trusting anyone that I’m not sure it’s enough._

_What would you take for it? I’m not stupid enough to think you’d get me in for nothing._

_So you’ll play exy in exchange for chocolate? I stumbled across a coffee shop today that’s tucked away down an alley. The woman gave me a free piece of cake for some reason. I don’t really like sweets, but I thought you might have enjoyed it if you were here._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. No, it’s your name._

Reading Abram’s letter again, Andrew was surprised to find how unconcerned he found himself over the other boy’s past. It felt almost surreal, a story concocted for entertainment, too outlandish to be true. But Abram hadn’t given Andrew a reason to distrust him yet, and his reaction to when he thought Andrew had lied all but confirmed that whatever he told Andrew was indeed the truth. It was exhilarating, to have someone share the darkest parts of themselves; to trace their scars and wounds and tell Andrew how they got them. It was thrilling to know he could do the same without any expectations.

Their game had evolved, but Andrew couldn’t bring himself to mind.

In the deepest part of his mind, where he kept things locked down tight, Andrew believed that he could tell Abram everything, show him just how ruined Andrew had become, and the boy wouldn’t flinch from him. He could whisper to him about the things that clawed at him, threatened to drown him, and Abram would respond in kind.

The desire to meet him had evolved from a niggle in the back of his mind to an all-consuming burning. He wanted Abram to come, to see him in the flesh, and wanting for Andrew had always been a dangerous thing. He was on the edge of something, that all too familiar swoop in his gut, and he couldn’t back away.

This time, Abram had sent him a photo of what looked like a piece of chocolate cake, topped with powdered sugar and a cluster of raspberries. Flipping it over, Andrew found Abram’s customary note: _I had one bite before I gave up and just ate the raspberries._ Andrew wanted to gut him. He had to try at stupid stickball _and_ argue with his coach for a muffin and Abram was just throwing away free cake. It was both baffling and disturbing. Andrew really hated him.

~~~

He was still fixating on that chocolate cake, studying the excuse of a brownie that he had gotten with his dinner when everything went to shit.

It started with Spencer, who was more wraith than a boy at this point. Andrew had heard he had been buying medication from a few of the boys here, and it looked like the combination of different drugs had finally caught up to him. He had been shambling towards the trash, tray shaking along with his hands when he had dropped to the floor. For a moment, he was stock still. The clatter of the tray had drawn the attention of the surrounding boys, so when Spencer started convulsing on the floor, there was an immediate outcry.

Guards rushed over, radioing for medical, trying to move Spencer into a recovery position. Andrew could feel the tension in the room rising; a weight pushing down on the back of his neck and pulling his muscles tight. It’s a Sunday, so they only had one nurse on staff, and by the time they arrived, Spencer had stopped moving altogether, and looked to be unconscious. There’s a scramble to move Spencer onto the stretcher, and then the guards are lifting him up and moving him out of the room, yelling a ‘ _behave or else_ ’ over their shoulders as they moved through the doors.

It was deathly quiet for a moment, everyone looking at one another, seeing who would make the first move. Andrew was not surprised when Zac got up from his chair, gaze locking with his. Not wanting to be at a disadvantage, Andrew stood as he approached, keeping his arms loose at his sides.

Zac spread his arms wide, almost as if to embrace Andrew, a wide grin on his face. “Doe! I think it’s time someone put you in your place.”

Andrew stared back impassively at him.

Zac’s grin twisted into a sneer in the face of Andrew’s indifference. “I’m sick of hearing how everyone is afraid of some faggot.” Andrew’s hands curled into fists at the word. He had given Zac two warnings now; he wasn’t about to give him a third. “How many cocks have you taken, Doe? Bet you love being locked up in here, huh? Waiting to corner one of us so you can-“

Andrew’s punch stopped the rest of the words from falling out of his mouth. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears, the sound of flesh hitting flesh a dull echo. Distantly, he could feel Zac struggling beneath him, trying to push Andrew off from where he was on top of him. If he thought about it, he could feel the floor beneath his knees, could hear the cry of someone calling for a guard. But all of that seemed secondary to the bloody face beneath his fists, the cracking of bone and splatter of blood.

There was a pounding noise that could have been heavy boots or his heart. He wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he wouldn’t listen to another word come out of Zac’s mouth. He had warned him not to cross Andrew. He had warned him he didn’t like that word. It was not Andrew’s fault he couldn’t listen. Actions had consequences after all. Andrew had been taught that in life consequences meant broken bones and bloodied knuckles, and no amount of begging could make it stop.

He was determined to teach this to Zac, to show him _why_ the other boys had told him to stay away from Andrew, when a body collided with him from the side, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Their heavy weight was suffocating, and in his panic Andrew fought like a wild animal, clawing and striking anywhere he could reach. There were hands on him, pinning him down and twisting his limbs. He kept flashing back to a dark bedroom, with a different man’s body over his own and different hands tugging his arms behind his back.

An animalistic snarl tore itself from his throat, his body thrashing in an attempt to escape. Someone was crushing his head onto the floor, his shoulder burning from the angle they were holding his arm. Someone was calling his name, but the voice kept changing, twisting the words into something else.

There was no air in his lungs, and Andrew wanted to scream. He could feel his body beginning to shut down, refusing to cooperate as he needed it to. A cold wave washed through him, and he went limp, locked into his mind. They were still holding him down, calling to him, but their words were distorted as if Andrew was underwater. He was no longer sure if he was breathing. He felt them lift him up, moving him, and he let himself fall into the growing numbness.

~~~

Greer found him tucked into the corner of his cell, back pressed hard against the wall. Andrew had come back into his body a few hours ago, unaware of how much time had passed. He was sure, that if he wanted to, he could think back and replay with perfect clarity what had happened since the fight and now. But he had been trapped in memories during that time and was now still fighting for his control.

Andrew kept his gaze on the space just beside Greer, keeping him within his sight without actually looking at him. The man sat down on the bed, his own gaze intent on Andrew’s curled form. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, Andrew trying to regain full function of his lungs.

Greer broke first. “Andrew,” he said, eyes unwavering, “do you remember what happened?”

Andrew couldn’t even answer if he wanted to.

“You sent that boy to the hospital. They want to move you to the maximum-security area of the facility; add on to your time here. They want to take you off the exy team.”

He didn’t care. He could barely feel his body. How was he supposed to summon the will to care about anything else but getting enough function back so he could protect himself?

Greer sighed. “Look,” he stated, “there have been some complaints about the boy you attacked. One of the boys here came forward with concerns about him targeting others due to their sexual orientation. Do you know anything about that?”

Yes. But he wouldn't say anything about it.

Greer seemed to understand though, leaning back further out of Andrew’s space. He hummed, staring hard at Andrew for a while, his finger tapping on his knee. Finally, he let out a breath. “I don’t want to see you punished if you were defending yourself. I’ve already heard from some of the other boys that you were approached first and that you never spoke a word. Told me some pretty nasty accusations were being thrown at you. Is that true?”

A slow blink was all he could manage.

Something dark clouded Greer’s face, and Andrew’s body curled up tighter on itself involuntarily. “When the guards were holding you down, you entered a catatonic state. Has that ever happened to you before?”

Yes.

Greer waited, still studying Andrew where he sat.

Eventually, Greer scratched his jaw, right over his scar. “Okay Andrew, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to say that you were approached and were verbally attacked. We’ve already gotten reported threats being made, so you have that in your favour. I don’t think you’re someone to attack people for no reason, and Coach Orav is adamant that you’re difficult but not violent. Hell, even a guard has put in a good word for you. So, I’m going to do what I can to keep things normal for you when you get out of here. Sound good?”

Andrew just blinked at him.

The man took from that what he needed, nodding as he stood. “Good. I’ll be checking your arms when you get out.” With that, he left.

Andrew was left alone in a dark room, but for the first time, he wished someone would stay.

_Abram,_

_You’ll need to stop running eventually. Do it on your own terms._

_I’m back in solitary. There’s talk of increasing my time if I can’t control my temper. They told me if I could get kicked off the exy team. My therapist says he won’t let that happen, that I shouldn’t be punished for defending myself. Coach doesn’t want me off the team because he knows he won’t find a better goalie. I don’t have too much motivation to care all that much either way. I warned the other boy. He didn't listen._

_There’s visitation after the family games. If I get you into the game, come see me after. You do, and I’ll even promise to try in the damn game._

_\- Andrew_

_P.S. I hate you. You’re a heathen. A sweets-hating, exy-loving menace._


	15. Trading Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mentions of violence/death in this one.

_Andrew,_

_I should say no. You’ve told me they keep you in goal because you’ve too violent and that they’re worried about your temper, and that alone should make me want to stay away. There should be no reason for me to get on a plane and go back to California, which you know I hate, to meet some boy in juvie. Even if I get to see an exy game. It feels too close to my parents._

_I want to though. I think I want to meet you. I don’t know if I can come, Andrew, but I’ll think about it._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. Are you really that good of a goalie?_

Andrew was in solitary for two weeks. It was his longest stay yet, but Greer kept his word, and nothing changed for him when he was out. He wasn’t moved to a different area, there was no extra time added, and he still had to play exy.

It was for this reason alone that when Andrew sat down in his office, he lifted his sleeves when asked. There were no new lines, he didn’t have anything to use so he could add to them while in solitary, and Greer merely glanced to confirm this before letting Andrew cover his arms again.

“So,” Greer said, leaning back in his chair, “are you ready to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“It took two guards to subdue you.” Andrew tensed at the reminder. “From what they’ve told me it sounds as if you were in full-on fight or flight mode. Do you know what triggered it?”

Plucking at a loose thread to keep his hands busy, Andrew met Greer’s gaze with a bored expression. He knew exactly what had triggered him. He wasn’t about to tell anyone though.

The pen in Greer’s hand spun around the man’s fingers. “We’re in a juvenile detention centre, Andrew. Many of the boys here have faced some sort of trauma. I can’t help you with yours unless you tell me about it.”

And that was the issue, wasn’t it? It was always on Andrew to talk about the things he wanted to keep buried. To show people the disgusting pieces of himself so they can spout useless words back at him. He had already told one person about what had happened to him, and he had immediately been dismissed. He wasn’t going to do it again.

“Andrew-“

“No.”

The knuckles of Greer’s left hand rapped the desk twice. “Alright, we’ll try again later. We can talk about something else today. You have visitation next week, your uncle and brother. How does that make you feel?”

Like his world is crumbling. “I don’t care.”

“Mmm,” Greer jotted something down. “You don’t care that they’re coming to visit, or you don’t care about them?”

“Pick one.”

“Ah,” another note in his book. “It must have been difficult for you, learning about them. Do you resent them for what happened?”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you want them in your life? It looks like there have been mentions of adoption and getting you an early release.”

“I don’t want anything from them.”

“What do you want, Andrew?”

“Nothing.”

“Everyone wants something,” and that was true, but Andrew wouldn’t let himself be ruined again. He couldn’t. “Can you tell me something good?”

No. He couldn’t. He scratched his arm, stopping when he noticed Greer following the motion.

“How about this,” Greer put down his pen, laying his hands on his chest as he leaned back in the chair, “You tell me something good, and I’ll tell you something good in return. Does that work for you?”

Andrew was sure Greer had lots of useless stories about ‘something good’. He didn’t want any of them. Instead, “Tell me about your scar.”

Greer didn’t look shocked or uncomfortable like Andrew had thought he would. Instead, he looked resigned, or tired, perhaps. “If I do, you’ll tell me something good about you?”

Andrew nodded. He could think of something to feed Greer to get him off his back.

“Alright. About ten years ago, I worked at an office. I had a patient call to schedule an emergency appointment, and I decided to stay late to see them. They were agitated, pacing around eyes darting around tracking any movement. I tried coaching them through some grounding exercises, controlling their breathing, anything to get them to relax so we could talk. I got too close. They pulled a knife on me and tried to kill me. We struggled, they got me from my shoulder,” Greer pointed from just above his heart, and dragged his finger as he spoke, “up to my jaw. Before catching me in the side.” His hand brushed over the ribs under his right arm. “I was convinced I was going to die.”

When nothing else was coming, Andrew prompted, “But?”

Greer scratched his jaw, over his scar, “I used to play football in college. Scholarship. When we won the championships in my senior year, we got a statue engraved with all of our names. I kept it in my office. I hit them across the head with it, and they went down.

“I had forgotten to tell my wife I was staying late, so she came by the office to check on me. Found both of us on the floor and called for help. I woke up, they didn’t.”

“You killed them,” Andrew clarified.

“Yes,” Greer agreed, something dark flickering in his eyes, “I did. Police determined it was self-defence and I was cleared to work again. But I couldn’t go back to the office. I work here,” Greer said, leaning forward to rest his arms on his desk, “because I know there is a guard right outside that door. Some days, that knowledge is the only thing that allows me to be here.”

It was more truth than Andrew expected. “My letter mate sends me photos,” Andrew said, “in exchange for stories about exy.”

“That’s who you want to come to your game,” Greer guessed.

“He said he would think about it. If a British boy calls about it, make sure he gets in.”

“No name?” Greer asked.

“Not one I can give you,” Andrew said.

Greer stared at him for a moment, his gaze calculating. Andrew kept his face blank. The man nodded, a quick dip of his chin. “Sounds good.”

~~~

Andrew made sure to wait behind after exy practice so he could speak to Orav. He was busy trying to inspire a dealer who would be getting released next month. Andrew made sure to tune out the words, studying the scuffed plexiglass walls instead. They were so dirty in some areas that it was almost white. Half of the lights in the far goal were broken, so when the ball hit it only half the wall would light up. Andrew was musing over if the facility would ever pay to repair it when Orav sent the dealer to the showers.

“Doe,” he called, looking in Andrew’s direction, “what are you doing here?”

“I need my stats sheet,” Andrew said.

“You’re stat sheet? Why?”

Andrew shrugged, “Am I not allowed it?”

“No, I’ll get you a copy, come on,” Orav waved him over to the little office attached to the court.

It took some shuffling and searching, but finally, Orav pulled out Andrew’s sheet, slapping it onto the printer to make a copy. Before he handed it over, he looked Andrew up and down. “I’m glad they’re still letting you play,” he said, leaning his hip against the desk, “you’re too good of a player to lose.”

“I don’t care about exy.”

Shaking his head, Orav handed over the copy. “Sure thing kid. Go shower.”

~~~

Staring at the letter he wrote to Abram, Andrew carefully folded his stat sheet and placed it in the envelope. Abram’s parting question felt like a challenge, and Andrew was all too happy to meet it. He didn’t have a story for Abram this time, nothing interesting had happened lately, but he still owed him. This time, the photo had been of an old jail, moss creeping up the stone walls. The message ‘ _maybe you’ll visit one day_ ’ felt like a jab and a promise.

_Abram_

_I don’t care what you do._

_\- Andrew_

_P.S. I meet my brother soon._


	16. Brother Meet Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, we get to Aaron!

_Andrew,_

_How can you be that good and not care about exy? I can’t believe you._

_You’re finally meeting him? I didn’t think you would have wanted to. I bet you he’s an asshole, just like you. One day I’ll need to calculate just how expensive your letters are. You do know they're going across an ocean, right? You're wasting a lot of time and energy just to tell me you don't care._

_My uncle is sending me to a private school next year. Thinks I’ve done so well with this that I’m ready to take the next step. It just feels so mundane though. Before you make some comment, I’ve been to school before. But after everything that’s happened, how am I supposed to talk to normal people? They’re not you._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. I went to Bristol today, just to feel like I was running again. I gave this one some chicken from my sandwich._

When Jones came to get him, Andrew was waiting by the door. Something close to anxiety was sitting in his chest, causing his body to have too much energy. He needed to get this meeting over with so Aaron would finally leave him alone. When Aaron saw Andrew, he would see how he could never join their little family. Andrew would make that clear.

Jones had a small smile on his face as he waited in the hall. “Hey kid, good to see you out of the slammer.”

Andrew grunted in reply, mind still focused on what lay ahead. He followed Jones down the hall, trying to ignore the way his skin felt too tight.

When Jones searched and cuffed him, Andrew thought about a little fox under a park bench, the words ‘ _he likes chicken_ ’ flashing through his mind. The image helped keep other thoughts from crawling forward and taking over. Once the weight of the metal was on his body, Jones started to lead him away. The walk to the cafeteria felt endless, Andrew’s mind trying to keep pulling him away down paths he didn’t want to follow. He tried to think of the doodled foxes and exy sticks Abram had put around his letter. All too soon though, they were standing at the doors, Jones asking if he was ready.

No. Andrew was not ready. But he nodded anyway and walked through the doors.

He spotted Aaron immediately. Hunched down on himself, his blond hair almost white under the lights. He had deep bags under his eyes, and he was the same height as Andrew if a little leaner. He didn’t jump up when he looked up and saw Andrew approaching, rather looked down to where Andrew’s hands were cuffed, a furrow appearing in his brow. His twin was already proving to be more expressive than himself. It was strange to see a copy of his face move in ways his own didn’t.

Sitting across from him, Andrew could see the yellowing bruise on the side of his face and watched his twin tug the sleeves of his shirt over his knuckles, a move Andrew knew too well. And oh, this was not what he was expecting. The nervous energy he had been feeling switched to anger, hot and heavy in his chest. He had given up Cass, gotten himself thrown in this shithole, so Aaron would be _safe._

“Andrew,” Luther greeted, but Andrew kept his eyes on his twin, “it’s nice to finally get you two boys together.”

Aaron cleared his throat, casting a quick look at his uncle before flitting back to Andrew, “It’s good to finally meet you.”

It was odd, to hear his voice from another mouth. It was missing the slight rasp he had gained since smoking, but similar enough to his own. Aaron chewing on his lip brought Andrew’s attention to the fact that it had been split recently, it was still slightly swollen.

“I know this much be strange for you both,” Luther’s voice was fuel to the fire in Andrew, he flicked a cold glare in the man’s direction before settling back on Aaron, “but we need to work on reconnecting.”

There was silence over the table for a few moments, the tension growing. Aaron broke first.

“I heard you play exy,” he said it like it was almost a question. When Andrew did nothing but stare at him, he offered, “I play for my school team, I’m a backliner. We made it to semi-finals this year.” He tugged on his sleeves again and Andrew noted the lack of scarring on his knuckles. “Uh, you’re a goalie, right?”

Aaron already knew the answer, so Andrew didn’t see the need for him to ask in the first place. He kept staring at his twin, utterly unimpressed with this attempted small talk. What Andrew wanted to know was who was hurting his twin. Nothing else mattered. But he couldn’t ask with Luther sitting there. He couldn’t risk the man waving it away as he did before. Andrew wouldn’t be able to keep his control if he did.

“Andrew, you need to answer someone when they ask you a question,” Luther said, self-righteous as always. Andrew ignored him.

Aaron sent an unimpressed look his uncle's way, and that may have been the most interesting thing he’s done since Andrew walked in. “Whatever, it’s fine Uncle Luther. I told you he wouldn’t be excited to see me.”

“Of course he is! Your brother just needs more time to adjust. When we move him back home things will get easier.”

As they spoke, Andrew let himself observe the two of them. Being talked about as if he wasn’t there had been a theme of his childhood, and he had learned to use it to his advantage. Aaron didn’t seem afraid of Luther, more annoyed and sullen than wary. It didn’t rule out Luther as Aaron’s abuser, but Andrew didn’t think it was him. No, if he wanted to guess, he would say it was someone in Aaron’s own home. Which meant Tilda. He watched Aaron’s attitude sour while he talked to Luther, and while the man spoke of God and forgiveness, he had yet to lash out.

Andrew got bored of being ignored, dropping his hands down onto the table, the sound of metal hitting metal bringing both of their attention back to him. He stared impassively back.

“Sorry,” Aaron mumbled, casting a sidelong glare in Luther’s direction. “So, are you? Moving back with us?” There was a tone of hope in his voice, and Andrew’s stomach twisted at it.

“Yes,” Luther said. Apparently Andrew didn’t need to be here for this meeting. But he kept his mouth shut. If he opened it, he wasn’t sure what would come out. “It was unfortunate what happened, but we’re working on rectifying it. Andrew coming home is a big piece of that.”

Andrew’s opinion about it clearly didn’t matter. He could see the tentative excitement in his twin, and part of him wanted to crush it. To say Andrew would have nothing to do with them, just to see what his twin would do.

Aaron began to pick at his fingers, now unable to meet Andrew’s gaze. “Mom’s sorry,” he said, and Andrew wanted to scoff at the words. “She feels awful about what happened.”

Andrew was sure she felt awful that people found out about what she had done. Awful enough to demand Cass never contact her again and move herself and Aaron across the country. Andrew couldn’t find it within himself to care about her, she was just another failed parent from his past, but the way Aaron had begun to fidget, his skin turning clammy and his eyes moving to the clock every few seconds, Andrew cared about that. Aaron clearly wasn’t safe, and Andrew had already given up everything else for his twin. He would give up more to ensure it wasn’t all pointless. To ensure one of them would be okay.

As the time ticked down, and Andrew had yet to speak, Aaron grew more upset. “Are you seriously not even going to say a word to me? We flew all the way out here just to see you, asshole.”

“Aaron,” Luther snapped, before turning his look of disapproval on Andrew, “you’re brother clearly lacked proper home environments and decent role models. With time and the help of the Lord, I’m confident he’ll come around.”

Aaron huffed and crossed his arms across his chest indignantly, glaring at Andrew. “Whatever,” he grumbled.

“Let me speak to your brother alone for a few moments. We need to discuss the adoption and his release.”

Aaron’s mouth opened to protest, but at Luther’s pointed look he just rolled his eyes and stood, sending Andrew one last look, part hope, part anger, before departing.

As he was escorted back through the exit, Luther turned to Andrew, “I have the paperwork for you to sign today. We’ll get the adoption sorted out by the time you’re released. If you apply now, you can be out in a few months with good behaviour.”

A few months. A few months of Aaron being beaten and using without anyone to protect him.

Andrew held out his hand for the pen.

_Abram_

_Someone is hitting him. I’m applying for early release and I’m going to let his mother adopt me. Either she’s the one with the heavy hand or she’s not doing anything about it. I’ve given up too much to let him be hurt. You see, before I got locked up, I almost had a mother of my own. She was going to adopt me before we found out about Aaron. Then it was too dangerous to stay in that house, so I had to give her up. I tried to cut her out of my life a few months ago but she keeps applying for visitation rights. She is the last thing I’ll ever allow myself to want._

_He’s a backliner. I wonder if he’s better than you._

_\- Andrew_

_P.S. Who would ever willingly do math? And it's not my time and energy being wasted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm heading home today, so my updates won't be multiple times a day again, but I wanted to get this one up. Once I get settled they'll probably be more frequent.


	17. Truth on Credit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Andrew talks about the Spears without going into details.

_Andrew,_

_Fuck you, I like maths. It never changed, no matter where we were living._

_I guess you won’t be Doe anymore, will you?_

_If you got locked up for him, it was because you were protecting him, right? Why was it dangerous? What changed?_

_\- Abram_

_P.S. Will you still write me?_

The echo of the exy ball hitting the court wall rang in Andrew’s ear. They were in the middle of a scrimmage, and he was putting in his usual lack of effort. The other boys were running themselves ragged, shouting and cursing at one another. The next family game was coming up, and everyone wanted to show off. It was a miracle that a fight hadn’t started yet. Andrew had his racquet slung over his shoulders, watching the game more than playing.

It was only a matter of time before Orav grew tired of him, and soon enough the whistle was blowing.

“Doe!” He bellowed, stomping his way over to Andrew’s goal.

“Coach,” Andrew greeted in turn.

Orav stopped just before the goal line, a frown on his face and his hands on his hips. Andrew stared back impassively. “Can you put in a modicum of effort here?”

“I could,” Andrew agreed, “but I won’t”

The sigh that came out of Orav’s mouth was world-weary. Scrubbing one hand over his face, he stared up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at Andrew. “Okay, listen. There’s the family game in a few weeks, and I know you applied for early release, which means it’ll probably be your last one. So, if you put in the bare minimum of effort in the practices until then, I’ll play you the whole game.”

There was an outcry of protest from the other boys, but Andrew ignored them easily. “Why would I agree to that?” He asked, amused.

Orav’s brows furrowed in confusion, “I thought you would have wanted to show off for your family that’s coming.”

Andrew’s world tilted and stopped. “What.”

“Greer told me you got some visitors coming,” Orav said, glancing to the side as if the answer he was looking for was somewhere around them. “He said you were expecting them. Did you not know?

Oh.

Well.

Placing the butt of the racquet on the ground, he waved Orav off and said, “Get out of my goal.”

Fuck Abram for making him do this.

~~~

Andrew didn’t wait until he was seated to start. “Orav said someone’s coming to the game.”

Greer blinked at him, pen stilling in his hands. “I was going to tell you today, but I guess he beat me to it. Got the call yesterday.”

“And he was British? It wasn’t my family or the Spears calling?”

Greer shrugged, “I suppose he was British-ish? The accent was hard to place, but it wasn’t anyone from the Spears or your family.” Something warm bloomed in Andrew’s chest, but Greer’s next words immediately crushed it. “But because you’ve brought them up, let’s talk about them.”

Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but Greer held up a hand. “You can’t avoid this forever Andrew. I can’t help you unless you let me. So, are we talking about the Spears today? You still haven’t told me why you took them off visitation.”

“I don’t want to see them.”

“Why?”

He shot Greer a glare. He wasn’t telling him.

Greer took a deep breath in before letting it out slowly. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I’ve seen the documentation for when you were admitted here. I know how fresh some of those scars are. What I’m trying to find out, is if it’s solely because of mental illness, or if there is an outside influence from your last home that I need to factor into our treatment plan. Sometimes, just talking about it and having someone listen helps more than we think.”

When Andrew stayed quiet, Greer took off his glasses and fixed him with a piercing gaze. “You’re safe here, Andrew. Nothing you say will be repeated anywhere else.”

“You won’t believe me,” he hated how the words came out. He didn’t want to say anything.

Greer’s eyes were too knowing. He kept his gaze level, a flat surface for Andrew to stand on. “Can you tell me yes or no? I promise I won’t ask about it again until you bring it up. Was someone hurting you in the Spear house?”

For the next twenty minutes, they sat in silence. While Greer waited, Andrew ran through all of their previous interactions back. He couldn’t tell him what happened. He couldn’t look at another person’s reactions to the words. Not again. But Greer wasn’t asking for details.

In the last minute of their session, Andrew took a steadying breath.

“Yes.”

~~~

Cass’s letters were stashed away in the back of the bottom drawer of the dresser in his room. He hadn’t looked at them since he had received the last one a month ago. He had kept them all, a painful reminder of what he had lost. He didn’t pull them out, but he stared at the drawer, picturing the words hidden inside. Cass mentioned Drake in most of them, but she also spoke of how much she missed Andrew, and what she did during the days. For a long time, they had been Andrew’s only tether to his sanity. Now, he wondered if they had done more harm than good.

_Sometimes, just talking about it and having someone listen helps more than we think._

Well, he had tried that already. It didn’t work out for him. His gaze drifted over to his pillow, and he thought of the stack of letters there. There were horrible truths inked onto the pages, both his own and Abram’s. Andrew knew that if Abram rejected him after this, it would destroy him. It was terrifying how much power he had given someone he had never met.

His hands shook as he wrote his letter, the paper tearing in spots near the end because of how hard he pressed the pen into it, but he wrote his ugliest truths down. Before he could think better of it, he sealed it up and sent it away.

_Abram,_

_Nothing really changed for me. I still baked cookies with her on Sundays. I still went to that stupid youth sports program after school. She still made sure I ate enough and that my clothes were clean and fit me. The only difference was after when my foster brother came to my room at night, he started talking about how much fun it would be if Aaron could join us._

_I have lived in twelve foster homes, and none of them were good. Cass was the first good thing I had, and I wanted to keep her. I did everything I could so she wouldn’t send me away. I know she wouldn’t have chosen me over her own son if I told her who he really was. I carved myself open over and over again just to keep her happy. But I couldn’t let Drake near Aaron._

_That’s a truth on credit Abram. I’ve only told one other person about Drake, and I already told you that he didn’t believe me._

_\- Andrew_

_P.S. Do me a favour and destroy this letter._


	18. Andrew, Meet Abram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here it's here it's here!  
> This chapter was so hard to write because I had pictured it in so many different ways. I hope this one is worth the build-up.
> 
> Warnings for some homophobic language and mentions of Neil's past

_Andrew,_

_Growing up, my father and his people would teach me how to butcher people. How to drag it out and make it hurt enough that by the end, they were no longer recognizable as human. They would make me practice on chunks of meat, and later, live animals. If I didn’t do a good enough job, they would cut me open as punishment._

_I have never wanted to have the knowledge on how to cut someone deep enough to make them wish for death, but not deep enough to grant it. But I think if I ever met the Spears, I would gladly use everything I know to make it last._

_I have so few truths left, but you can have them all if you’d like._

_You’ll have to wait for my next one. It’s not one I can give you in a letter. I hope it’s enough._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. It’s nothing but ashes now._

Two weeks had passed before Andrew received Abram’s next letter. It could have been delayed for any number of reasons. They lived with a sea between them, after all. Andrew told himself that any number of things could have happened to the letter. These thoughts didn’t help him sleep at night, however. He refused to think of the tight feeling in his chest as anxiety, but the surge of relief he had felt when he saw the envelope on his pillow almost punched the air out of his lungs. Of course, it was immediately replaced by anger that he had allowed himself to feel anything about it at all.

Abram’s response had not been what he had expected. Disbelief, denial, or perhaps pity were what Andrew had thought he would have found. Instead, there was acceptance without question, and a dark truth shared in return. Abram didn’t waste time with a useless apology that Andrew didn’t want, but the anger he portrayed was surprising. No one had ever been angry on Andrew’s behalf before, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. There was something tight winding through his chest and throat, something uncomfortable and foreign, but not completely unpleasant.

It had taken him a few days to write back, too many words lodged in his throat that he couldn’t say. For a while, he debated waiting until after the game this weekend to write back but ultimately decided against it. There was a slim chance Abram would get it before he came, although Andrew wasn’t sure when he was leaving, or if he was still coming at all.

The days passed their usual pattern of food, class, therapy, and exy. Andrew had been ignoring Smith’s searching gaze ever since Zac had found them behind the shed, uninterested in dealing with his feelings. He had been clear from the start what they were to each other, and he wouldn’t waste more energy on it. Smith would figure it out eventually, and if he didn’t, Andrew didn’t really care.

It was all the same until Andrew woke up, and it was the day of the exy game. There was a buzzing under his skin, which he did his best to ignore.

He ate his breakfast, looking at his book but not reading it.

He went to therapy but didn’t answer any of Greer’s questions. The man seemed to understand he was distracted and spent most of the time telling Andrew about his daughter’s new dog.

He ate his lunch and had to concentrate on stilling his leg every time it wanted to bounce.

He changed out into his uniform, ignoring the sounds of people filling into the stands filtering through the walls. Stuffing his gloves into his helmet, he walked out of the locker room, absolutely _not_ looking at the people gathered. He marched over to where the boys were gathering around Orav and they parted for him naturally.

When Orav spotted him, his face lit up, “Doe! You’re good to play the whole game, yeah? I want to see you play your best today.”

There were a few protests from some of the other players again, but Orav waved them off, unconcerned. Andrew nodded, shoving his helmet onto his head. He would play this one game, and then he could leave exy behind. Making his way over to his goal, he kept his eyes forward, ignoring everyone around him.

There were enough players in the facility to make up two teams, and Orav split the rest of the boys up before sending the starters out. His heart was thumping in his chest in a rare show of anticipation. It surprised him, how he had been looking forward to this game. But, as he stood there, waiting for the dealer to serve, there was a thought in the back of his head that maybe Abram didn’t come. After all, who would travel all that way for someone like Andrew?

Motion caught his eye, and he had just enough time to realize the ball was flying at his goal before he raised his racquet and smashed it back down the court. _I’ll even promise to try in the damn game._ Andrew was a man of his word. After all, it's all he ever had to give.

~~~

It was a bloodbath on the court, every boy seeking their glorious moment to show off to the crowd. The refs had to break up three fights in the first twenty minutes alone. Andrew’s backliners were almost completely useless, pushing too far forward and allowing the strikers to slip by them and get close to the goal. It was infuriating. They weren’t skilled enough to be a challenge normally, but it was as if Andrew had been left to defend the goal by himself, and they just kept coming. He was forced to actually _try._ They had yet to get a goal past him though, and their frustration was beginning to show. There had been more than one insult thrown at him.

It was after Andrew had deflected yet another shot that a comment finally spiked his temper.

“Fucking fag!” The striker yelled, red in the face.

Gripping his racquet a little tighter, Andrew watched him. Apparently, people hadn’t learned since his encounter with Zac. He would need to give them a reminder.

His own team scored, and the striker’s movements became more agitated. The play started moving back towards Andrew’s goal, and he crouched a little lower, eyeing the distance to the goal line. The backliner on his left was weaker on his right leg, and the striker took advantage of it, slipping by him, open for a pass. Andrew waited for a beat, before stepping forward. As the ball landed in the striker’s net, Andrew drove his shoulder into the boy’s chest, dropping him to the ground.

Vaguely, he was aware of his backliner collecting the ball. Andrew stood over the fallen striker, listening to him gasp for air.

“Did you want to say something to me?” Andrew asked, cocking his head. The play had stopped when the taller boy had failed to get to his feet, still curled around himself. Boys started gathering around them, but none got too close, eyeing Andrew warily.

The echoing bang of the court doors opening sounded in Andrew’s ears, and then Orav and a referee were running over to them.

“Doe!” Orav yelled, “What the hell happened?”

Slinging his racquet over his shoulders, Andrew moved back to his spot in goal, “Nothing Coach,” he said, “just playing the game like you asked me to.”

Orav shook his head, leaning over the other boy, “You good McKenna?”

“He’s fucking psycho,” he gasped out.

“It was a legal hit, kid,” Orav said, a tad apologetically. “Come on, let’s get you to the bench.”

The ref sent Andrew a warning glance, which he answered with his signature two-fingered salute. There was a slight hesitation from the rest of the team until they found their places once more.

No one spoke a word to Andrew for the rest of the game, and no one got too close to his goal again.

~~~

Andrew’s team won, 12-0. Ignoring the dirty looks he received, he made his way to the bench, keeping his back to the crowd. Orav had a wide grin on his face, his entire being almost vibrating with excitement. He slapped Andrew on the shoulder, and he tensed involuntarily. Forcibly relaxing his shoulders, Andrew removed his helmet, knowing his cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat.

Listening to Orav’s usual speech about effort and sportsmanship was boring, but Andrew refused to let his gaze drift over to the stands, and the man’s wild gestures were a good distraction. Eventually, the team was sent to shower, with a final reminder that the boys with families here needed to meet back after.

Letting the water beat down his shoulders, Andrew took a moment to close his eyes and compose himself. There was no guarantee that Abram had been watching, and if he had, it didn’t mean he would stay for visitation. Desperately, Andrew tried to crush the little blossom of hope that had appeared at some point, but he couldn’t get a good grasp on it. It stubbornly stayed with him as he got dressed and stepped out of the locker room. The court had been cleared of the spectators, all of them moved to the cafeteria.

Andrew moved to slip back to his room. If he didn’t go, he couldn’t be disappointed. Even if Abram was waiting for him, Andrew didn’t want to meet him. There was a sinking feeling in his gut that everything would be ruined if they met face to face.

He made it to the door where he ran into Jones. “Andrew! Good timing, I still gotta put the gear on you.”

The sinking feeling intensified. “What.”

“You know the protocol,” Jones shrugged, gesturing for him to follow, “if you have any history of violence you need cuffs during visitation.”

He was here.

Andrew was pretty sure his lungs forgot to work for a moment.

Swallowing hard, he followed Jones to the guard station. His mind was racing too quickly for him to pay attention to what Jones was chattering about, barely present enough to notice when he was searched and cuffed. Numbly, he followed Jones to the cafeteria once again, staring a hole into the man’s back.

Jones reached for the door and Andrew realized, “I have no idea who I’m looking for.” The height of Jones’s eyebrow was impressive. “I’ve never met them,” Andrew clarified. “I don’t know what they look like.”

There was laughter in Jones’s eyes. “Oh! Well, I saw them when they were checking in. I heard you had another visitor, and I just had to get a look at ‘em. I’m always there when you got someone coming to see you.” Jones peeked through the windows of the door before giving Andrew a sly look. “Back right corner. He’s sitting by himself. Grey sweater.”

Stepping through the door, Andrew looked to where Jones had directed.

Fuck.

While Jones was right, and Abram was wearing a grey sweater, that was _not_ what Andrew would have used to distinguish him. His hair was a fiery auburn, just on the right side of messy, falling over his forehead and into his eyes. His eyes were so incredibly blue, Andrew was almost positive they were fake. They searched the room, and Andrew was sure he was marking the exits. Abram seemed to be on the verge of running, his expression guarded, watching the other people in the room with open distrust. While he looked to be of a similar age and height to Andrew, he was lithe and clearly had a runner’s build. Andrew’s hands itch to reach out and touch. He curled them into fists instead.

Abram’s gaze snapped to Andrew as he approached, and the force of it almost stopped him in his tracks. It was through sheer willpower alone that Andrew crossed the last bit of distance between them, sliding into his seat. The entire time, a voice was whispering in his head _he came he came he came he’s here._

Abram looked him up and down once, his expression unreadable. Andrew stared back, keeping his face blank.

“Andrew?” And fuck if hearing his name in that voice didn’t do something to him.

“Abram,” he answered, that strange feeling from before expanding.

A small smile appeared on Abram’s face, and Andrew wanted to tuck it away in his pocket to keep. It was a small thing, just barely noticeable; Andrew wasn’t even sure Abram knew it was there. But it lit something in his eyes that had been dull before, and Andrew had the feeling he was being given something infinitely special. Mentally cursing himself, Andrew kept his eyes on Abram’s, the blue even more intense up close. His lashes were long, casting shadows on the constellation of freckles across his cheeks when he blinked.

Andrew was having a hard time keeping the air in his lungs.

“I watched your game,” Abram said, excitement clear in his voice, and _god that accent,_ “you were amazing!”

Andrew’s eyebrow arched without his permission. No pointless lines like 'nice to meet you' or 'why are you cuffed' or 'you don't look like what I imagined'. The junkie went straight for exy. “I’m not talking about exy with you.”

Abram’s smile slipped into a smirk, “We agreed exy for photos, yes?” At Andrew’s nod, Abram pulled a small stack of photos from his pocket, handing them to Andrew. “I’ve been taking photos for the past week just for this.”

This fucker. Andrew flicked through the stack, spotting trees, rivers, alleyways, and an airport before he put the stack to the side. “I’m not spending the entire time talking about it. Ten minutes.” A minute a photo sounded fair to Andrew.

Abram didn’t argue, surprising Andrew. He would have thought the junkie would have tried to bargain for more time. Instead, Abram leaned forward, hair falling into his eyes, and Andrew took a very controlled breath. “I can’t believe you shut down the entire goal, I mean the other players are all shit-” a mother at the next table over turned to glare, but Andrew, still listening to Abram recount the game, levelled her with a flat stare until she turned away- “and you _completely_ shut it down! You’re so good, why don’t you play like that all the time?”

Andrew turned back to Abram, “Exy isn’t usually interesting enough for me to be bothered.”

“You bothered this time.”

“I keep my promises.”

Abram looked almost relieved for a moment, casting a quick glance around the room. “What happened with that guy? The one you hit?”

“He said a word I don’t like.”

“Did he know not to say it to you?” Abram asked.

“They all know not to,” Andrew said, remembering the wide berth he had given after the altercation with Zac.

Abram hummed, “What was the word?”

Andrew tensed, and Abram pulled back the slightest bit. “If I don’t like it,” Andrew bit out, “then why would I say it?”

Those blue eyes blinked at him, searching and on edge. Andrew thought he would push, would ask again, but Abram simply said, “Okay,” and let it drop.

It was strange, to be sitting across from the boy who knew of Andrew’s secrets. Who knew the dirty bits of himself he kept locked away, and to have him look at Andrew without flinching. Talking to someone who could match him ugly truth for ugly truth was something he had yet to experience with anyone else. There was the awful feeling of being _known,_ and Andrew wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Is this who you really are,” Andrew asked, gesturing at Abram’s face because he knew it would throw him and Andrew needed to find his footing again.

Immediately, Abram’s eyes shuttered. He cleared his throat, once again checking the exits. “I told you I couldn’t give you my next truth in a letter. I haven’t looked like this in years.”

“Not running anymore? What about daddy-dearest?”

The glare Abram gave him was more amusing than anything else, although Andrew wasn’t as easily threatened as most. “No. I know that he’ll catch up to me eventually, even with Stuart’s people watching me. I don’t want to die a nobody. I’m just-” Abram took a shuddering breath, his entire body rattling with it- “I’m tired, Andrew. I don’t want to be nothing anymore. I can’t just keep running from one place to the next, never making connections and constantly looking over my shoulder. Wondering if each face I pass is someone sent to kill me. So, I’ll testify against him. Make sure he and his people get what they deserve.”

As Abram spoke, a sharp dangerous smile crept onto his lips, making him look slightly crazed. It didn’t belong on his face; far too cruel for someone like him. Abram seemed to notice it as well because his fingers dug into his face as if he was trying to claw the expression off. Andrew couldn’t reach him with his hands cuffed to his waist, so he stuck out his leg, hooking his foot around Abram’s calf, and pulled hard. Abram had to grab the table to stop himself from falling, the smile wiped off of his face in the wake of his alarm.

He blinked at Andrew, lips slightly parted, and Andrew had to force the urge to smirk down. Instead, he kept his face blank. This kid may somehow have more issues than himself, but Andrew wasn’t going to coddle him because of them.

“Asshole. See if I ever visit you again,” Abram muttered, but the tension that had crept into his frame again had lessened.

“See if I care,” Andrew shot back. “What’s more likely, death by aliens or by zombies?”

Abram looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Uh, what?”

Andrew’s eyebrow twitched upwards again, much to his displeasure. “Would you rather keep talking about your multitude of issues? We only have an hour.”

“Fuck off,” Abram said pleasantly, that small smile making a reappearance. And oh. Oh, this was going to be a problem.

They spent the rest of their time discussing survival plans for each scenario, agreeing that zombies were more likely, but disagreeing on going solo vs a group. Andrew argued that a small team of people could gather more resources, Abram couldn’t trust anyone to watch his back.

Before he knew it, they were being told to wrap it up.

Andrew moved to stand but stopped when Abram reached out. “I know you’re a terrible criminal,” Abram said, “but do you think you could sneak something past the guards?”

Andrew gestured for him to continue, and Abram opened his palm, flashing a few cigarettes before they disappeared back into his sleeve. “I couldn’t manage any ice cream, sorry.”

“Under the table,” Andrew said, reaching forward. Abram’s fingers brushed his as he gave Andrew the cigarettes, and he had to suppress a shiver at the sensation. It was different than the usual revulsion Andrew felt after being touched, and not entirely unwelcome.

Cigarettes successfully hidden on his person, Andrew stood, Abram following soon after. They stared at each other for a moment longer, unsure of how to end this. In the end, Abram just gave him a small wave, and slipped into the crowd exiting the cafeteria, vanishing. If it were not for the cigarettes he held, Andrew could almost convince himself it had all been a hallucination.

Turning his back on the last of the visitors, Andrew thought of the last letter he had sent. The words had been true, but in his memory, they almost sounded like a lie.

_Abram_

_I hate you._

_\- Andrew_


	19. Burning California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, okay.
> 
> Warnings for reference to self-harm, mild panic attack, and mentions of Neil's and Andrew's pasts.

_Andrew,_

_It’s fine if you hate me. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write, the FBI practically have me on lockdown. I snuck out to get this to you._

_Did you know my father was going to sell me off to the highest bidder? I just found out that’s why mum took me and ran. Not because she was sick of stitching me up, although she still had to do that on the run too, but because she didn’t want to lose me to someone else._

_I know she loved me, why else would she risk her life? But it hurts, knowing seeing him torture me all of those years wasn’t what pushed her over the edge. She was never the perfect mother, but I still miss her. She was my family._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. I’m glad I got you for this stupid programme._

It had taken two months for Abram’s next letter to arrive. During that time, Andrew had begun to slip, convinced he had ruined everything once again. It wouldn’t have surprised him, destroying something good that he never should have experience in the first place. After all, Abram was a pipe dream for someone like him. He never should have expected him to stick around and he never should have offered for them to meet in person. In the past two months, new lines had been carved into Andrew's skin and he had almost ruined his chances for an early release more than once.

If it were not for the letters still hidden under his pillow, he could have pretended it had all been a dream. If it were not for the cigarette he rolled between his fingers each night, he would have thought Abram had been some kind of hallucination. As it was, Andrew just thought it was another joke played at his expense.

When he has seen the letter, Andrew had almost destroyed it without reading it. Two months with nothing, and finally the anger he had been pushing down had almost overwhelmed him. It took him until the morning of his next therapy session before he could even open it. There had been a small note attached, an address scribbled down on it with the message ‘ _if you still want to write me’._ The entire thing had left him feeling lost, unsure of where to put the rage that still made his hands shake. 

Sitting across from Greer, looking at the scar disappearing into his shirt, Andrew realized he needed to get it all _out_ of him.

“He wrote me,” he found himself saying.

Greer’s brow arched up. Andrew had been trying to learn how he could convey so much with a single motion. He wanted to be able to do that. “Your friend?”

“He’s not my friend.”

“What is he?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah, okay,” Greer said, easily agreeing. Andrew hated that. “Did you read it?” Andrew hated that too, how Greer didn’t assume he did anything.

“Yes. He said he was sorry for not writing sooner.” He left out the bit about the FBI.

“You’re still angry,” Greer observed. Not judging, just a simple statement of fact. Andrew allowed himself a nod. “Do you wish to discuss why you are feeling this way?”

Greer was a clever bastard and had started replacing ‘want’ with ‘wish’ after Andrew had snapped one too many times about how he wanted nothing. Andrew had yet to find a way to get around it.

He gestured to the ball of rubber bands Greer had started keeping on his desk during their sessions, and Greer rolled it over to him. It was easier, sometimes, to organize his thoughts when he could keep his hands busy. The texture of the bands kept him grounded and helped Andrew keep control of himself. He would never tell Greer he appreciated the gesture, but he suspected that the man knew anyway.

“Words feel slippery today,” Andrew snapped a purple band.

“Would it be easier if I told you what I have noticed, and you can agree or disagree with me?”

He gave a jerky shrug, rolling the ball between his palms.

“Okay, you were in a good place two months ago, after the exy game. I think we can attribute that to finally meeting,” Greer paused, tapping his pen against his thigh, “oh I don’t know, what shall we refer to him as?”

“Rabbit,” Andrew said immediately.

“Okay, Rabbit. Two months ago you met Rabbit, after writing back and forth for months. It was a good experience, and you were hopeful that you two would continue to speak.” Andrew didn’t answer, and Greer took this as the confirmation it was. “When you heard nothing back, it was disappointing and hurtful. In the past, you have responded to these emotions with anger. It’s easy to direct that anger at others, especially when we feel they have wronged us.”

Andrew snapped a few more bands, catching his fingers under them. Greer watched but didn’t comment.

“Did Rabbit tell you why he didn’t write sooner?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe him?”

The question forced Andrew to pause. Abram hadn’t done anything to show Andrew that he was the liar he had said he was, and he did say he was going to testify against his father when they had seen each other. It wasn’t really a question of if Abram was being truthful, it was why Andrew was still _angry._

“I don’t want to.”

“Because it’s easier to be angry at someone when they’re in the wrong.” Andrew moved to scratch his arms but settled for snapping the elastics on his fingers instead. “It’s okay to be angry Andrew. Your emotions are valid.”

Andrew didn’t really believe him, but he shrugged anyway.

Greer passed over another bundle of elastics, and Andrew started adding them to the ball. “So, if you believe Rabbit is being truthful, it doesn’t feel fair to aim your anger in his direction. This leaves you nowhere to place it, and that must be frustrating.”

Andrew made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. He added a red band to the ball.

“Andrew, I’m proud of you.” Greer’s words made him fumble and drop the damn ball, the sound of it bouncing off toward the door filling the room. He stared at Greer in confusion, trying to process the words.

“When we first started this, I doubt you would have been able to recognize anything beyond the feeling of anger. The fact that you are able to understand not only what you are feeling, but taking action to understand _why_ is a very large improvement. Even if that action is simply acknowledging what has happened and why that may have led to the emotional response you had.”

That. That couldn’t be right. Andrew blinked at Greer, trying to understand what his angle was. He was waiting for the turnaround, the ' _but it’s not good enough. You’re not good enough'._ It was always right around the corner.

Greer stood, walking over to pick up the ball where it had come to rest in the corner. He tossed it toward Andrew, and the reflexive action of catching it snapped Andrew out of his head.

“I’m still angry," he pointed out.

Greer shrugged, “And that’s fine. We can’t always control how we feel, but we can work on accepting what has happened and moving on from it.”

Swallowing, Andrew turned back to face Greer’s empty chair. It was silent for a few minutes before he spoke, “I’m getting released soon.”

“You are,” Greer agreed, moving back to his chair and pulling Andrew’s file closer, “the adoption went through. Are we talking about that now?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Alright. I do want to remind you that our time together is coming to an end. When you leave this facility, I do recommend you find someone to talk to, but whether you do or not is up to you.”

When Andrew just nodded, Greer let out a heavy sigh. It was unusual for the man, and it caught Andrew’s attention. He scratched his scar, studying Andrew’s file.

“I’m only bringing this up because it’s the policy here to let you know when someone has requested visitation.” The floor opened up under Andrew’s feet, his heart lurching. “Cass Spear has requested to see you. It is my professional opinion that because of the abuse you suffered-“

“Cass never abused me,” Andrew cut in, his pulse loud in his ears.

Greer was quiet for a moment, studying Andrew’s clenched jaw and white-knuckled grip on the elastic ball. “Just because someone didn’t actively try to harm you,” Greer said calmly, “doesn’t mean they are innocent in your trauma.”

There was white gathering in the corners of his vision, and his hands had begun to shake again. Cass was good. She never hurt him. Greer didn’t know what he was talking about.

“She loved me,” Andrew choked out, the words tasting like bile.

Greer kept a steady rhythm tapping his pen against the desk, allowing Andrew to use it to count his breathing. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, the only sound the consistent tapping, but Greer didn’t say anything else. He simply sat across from Andrew, watching him with those sharp eyes that saw far too much.

~~~

Andrew stared at the bottom drawer of his dresser. He thought about what Greer said. He thought about Abram’s latest letter. He thought about Cass. He was still angry, and he still felt the urge to do _something_ scratch under his skin. Greer said he should work on accepting what had happened. Andrew _knew_ what had happened to him. He’ll never be able to forget it. That wasn’t his problem. He just didn’t know how to move on from it.

The thought of Abram’s mother, buried under the sand, flashed through his mind. Casting a quick glance at the clock, and collected all of Cass’s letters, shoving them under his shirt. There was still twenty minutes before dinner.

The walk out to the yard was quick, the guards mostly ignoring him at this point. He managed to slip back behind the shed, grabbing his lighter from behind a piece of loose siding. Flicking the flame to life, he watched it flutter in the light breeze, weak and dim in the sunlight.

He thought of all the words Cass had written him while he had been locked up. The Sunday cookies. The requests to visit him.

_She loved me._

He thought of late nights spent stuffing his sheets into washing machines, his hair still wet from the shower. Of wearing long sleeves in the summer. Of Cass’s face, turning away when he flinched from Drake placing a hand on his shoulder at dinner.

_She was never the perfect mother, but I still miss her._

_Just because someone didn’t actively try to harm you doesn’t mean they are innocent in your trauma._

Andrew put the flame to the letters and watched them all burn.

_Abram_

_Don’t waste your time missing abusers. You’re better off without her. People just use ‘love’ as a way to excuse themselves. ‘Family’ is just a term for people who are supposed to care about you, protect you, but only hurt you instead._

_The adoption went through. I took Aaron’s last name. I get out of here next month and I’ll be flying to Columbia, South Carolina to live with him. I've never been on a plane before but I know I'll hate it._

_\- Andrew Minyard_

_P.S. You’ve become a problem for me, Abram. I don’t like problems._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you've noticed there's only one chapter left. Originally, I was going to write this as a two-parter, but today I changed my mind and we're doing it in three parts. So, there is more coming!


	20. Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The end of Andrew's time at juvie!

_Andrew Minyard,_

_I want to come back for you._

_\- Abram_

_P.S. Thank you. You were amazing._

It felt too much like a goodbye. Andrew stared at the letter in his hands, his throat tight. They had come by this morning to give it to him before he left. Andrew should have expected this. Abram had asked if Andrew would still write to him, but Andrew had never asked him the same. He had known everything about Abram had been too good for him, but he had let himself _want_. Placing it with the rest of Abram’s letters, Andrew shoved them all into the pocket of his sweats, determined to not think about it again.

~~~

Jones met him at the door to his room, a plastic bag in his hands. “Hey kid,” he greeted, “I bought you some clothes. They’re nothing fancy, but I don’t think you’d want to walk out of here in the facility sweats.”

Blinking at the guard, Andrew accepted the bag. Taking a glance inside, Andrew saw black jeans, a pair of sneakers, and a grey sweater. Looking back up at Jones, he nodded his thanks. Andrew had outgrown all of the clothes he owned before he was admitted, and he doubted Luther would think to bring any for him. Smiling, Jones closed the door for him, allowing Andrew to change in privacy.

The sweater was soft and slightly too big on him, the sleeves falling past his knuckles. He had to cuff the jeans a few times to prevent them from dragging on the floor, but otherwise, they fit. The shoes were his size, and Andrew realized Jones must have gone through the administration to find out his approximate size for everything. Finally, he once again pocketed Abram’s letters, still holding the pictures and the last cigarette he had been given inside.

He would have one last session with Greer, and then he would be released. Luther should already be filling out the paperwork needed. Opening the door to the room he had lived in for two years, he stepped through without looking back.

Walking down the hall with Jones, Andrew listened to him prattle on about how he was going to try to watch more of the Trojan’s games this year, and that he was hoping they would finally beat the Raven’s. Before they reached the offices, Jones slowed, looking at Andrew with a critical eye. “Are you going to try to play collegiate exy? You’re good enough.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

Jones hummed, finally stopping outside of Greer’s door. “Well, if you do, let me know. I’ll be sure to watch your games. Good luck, kid. You’re one of the good ones.”

Andrew scoffed, but Jones just pushed open the door with a wink.

Greer was waiting for him inside, file on his desk and a smile on his usually stoic face. “Andrew, it’s good to see you in something other than those awful facility-issued sweats.”

“At least they’re not orange,” Andrew said.

Greer laughed, a deep rumbling sound, and gestured to the stool for Andrew to take a seat. “Fair enough. How are you feeling about leaving today?”

“I won’t miss the food.”

“No one ever does. How do you feel about going to live with your brother?”

Andrew shrugged, twisting the sleeves of his sweater between his fingers. He was having a hard time focusing on what it would be like to live with Aaron and Tilda.

Greer seemed to sense something was off. “Is there something on your mind, Andrew?”

“We’re flying.”

Greer nodded.

Andrew swallowed. “I’m afraid of heights.”

The only reaction Greer showed was a slight widening of his eyes. “Oh. I see. Well, there’s not much I can tell you to fix that but-” he grabbed the rubber-band ball from his drawer and tossed it to Andrew- “take this. Generally, the worst part is the take-off and landing, but it will feel worse than it is. Don’t look out the window if you can help it and keep yourself distracted. You’ll be okay.”

Andrew nodded, eyeing his file. “Do you keep that?” He asked.

Greer glanced down at it. “The facility does, yes. It gets locked away in the administrative building. It’s only ever brought out if you return or if it’s needed for legal purposes.”

“Legal purposes?”

Greer gave him a one-shoulder shrug, “Say you want to take legal action on your therapist or a guard from your time here. The file would be reviewed for the case. Things like that. Otherwise, no one will ever see what’s in here.”

It wasn’t ideal, but Andrew could live with that.

They had to finish with a few standard questions, and Greer had to take documentation of his arms a final time, but soon enough their final session was drawing to a close. There was something burning in Andrew’s mind, however, and he couldn’t leave without dealing with it.

“If I move, will I be taken out of the Letter Mates program?”

“If you want to be. I could update your address for you; make sure any mail from them would still get to you.”

The letters in his pocket felt like a thousand pounds. “I need to write him back. Before I leave.”

Greer didn’t question him, just passed him his usual pen and a blank piece of paper. Andrew quickly wrote his message and folded it into the envelope given to him. He wrote down the last address Abram had given him and handed it over to Greer. He knew the man would mail it for him.

He said nothing, accepting the envelope and standing. Together, they walked to the exit in silence. Snapping the elastics, Andrew realized he would miss Greer. While he had never _enjoyed_ talking to him, it was not the worst part about being locked up. He wouldn’t say that though.

“I won’t take legal action on you,” he said instead.

“Oh, good,” Greer said. “I appreciate that.”

Andrew spotted Luther waiting for them at the main entrance. Stepping through the doors left him feeling off as if he was standing in front of a large abyss, and he wasn’t sure where to go now.

Luther looked him up and down, “Grab your things so we can go.”

Andrew looked at Greer, who quirked his brow. He could still feel the letters in his pocket, but his hand brushed against them anyway. Raising the rubber-band ball up for Luther to see, Andrew said, “This is it.”

The incredulous look on Luther’s face could almost be funny. “What about your clothes? You must have things you want to bring with you.”

“Funny thing about being passed around in foster care your whole life,” Andrew said, “you don’t end up owning much.”

Luther’s mouth opened and closed a few times before a dark look passed over his face. “Right. Well. Let’s get you back then.”

He turned to leave, but as Andrew went to follow, Greer cleared his throat. Looking back at him, Andrew saw he was holding out a piece of paper for him to take. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

Andrew glanced at the paper, reading the number across it. He looked back at Greer’s face, and without accepting the paper, said, “Sure thing.”

Giving him a two-fingered salute, Andrew stepped outside. He was leaving, finally going to his brother. He would do anything to make sure Aaron was safe; give up everything if he had to. But, as the hot Californian sun beat down on him, Andrew spared one last thought to Abram, and the letter he had written. If he could, Andrew would like to have just this one thing.

_Stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, the end of part one! I'll be getting the first chapter of part two up soon. Thank you all so much for sticking with it, and for all of your support! It means a lot to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Kudos, comments, and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> I made a Tumblr if you want to chat! [@paradoxolotl](https://paradoxolotl.tumblr.com)  
> Also a Twitter [@paradoxolotl](https://twitter.com/paradoxolotl)


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